


homemaker, game changer

by mockturtletale



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, DIY, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Nesting, Other, briefly multiple POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockturtletale/pseuds/mockturtletale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Taylor gets home he throws his keys in the bowl and they miss and fall onto the floor like they do about half the time. Taylor stoops to pick them up, but then he remembers that Jordan isn’t here to whine at him about it, so he kicks them under the table instead and throws himself down onto the couch to nap. </p>
<p>He’s just starting to drift into sleep when there’s a knock at the door.</p>
<p>It’s Ryan. With a hammer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	homemaker, game changer

**Author's Note:**

> This story (like all others) is for liketheroad, but the blame for the Jordan Eberle POV I place firmly at Halflinen's feet. Huge thanks to sand_dais for the beta, and for all her help and suggestions otherwise. Any remaining errors in this are mine. Many grateful thanks to my girl romasquerade for always knowing (and being) exactly what I need.
> 
> Please see the notes at the end for a list of details I changed for the sake of this story. 
> 
> I plotted this in line with canon events for the most part, but there are times when I take liberties with their personal schedules and what they might be like. Partly because I have no idea what they ARE like and partly because it was necessary / helpful to the storyline!

**Prologue ; Taylor's POV**

 

Taylor insists on driving Jordan to the airport when he has to catch a flight to Ottawa for the All Star Game. He’s stoked that Jordan got picked, he’s pretty sure he couldn’t actually be any more stoked about it if he'd been picked himself. He doesn’t mind all that much that he isn't going, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to do without Ebs for four days, though. That’s the longest they’ll have spent apart since the off season, and back then they were on the phone to one another for hours every day; this time Jordan’s going to be off getting corrupted by Patrick Kane or whatever. He’s going to be busy. He’s not gonna have time to call Taylor. Taylor is really fucking happy for Jordan, but he’s maybe a little sad for himself too.

He hugs Jordan probably tighter and longer than is advisable when they’re in public, and it’s not like they weren’t just making out in the car twenty minutes ago, but Jordan’s going away for four whole days and Taylor’s heart feels like it’s thumping its way up his throat.

On the drive back he doesn’t think about what he’s going to do while Jordan’s away. He’ll have to find ways to keep busy, but he doesn’t even wanna think about it now. He just wants to go home and sleep away as much of this stupid break as he can.

When he gets home he throws his keys in the bowl and they miss and fall onto the floor like they do about half the time. Taylor stoops to pick them up, but then he remembers that Jordan isn’t here to whine at him about it, so he kicks them under the table instead and throws himself down onto the couch to nap. He’s just starting to drift into sleep when there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Ryan. With a hammer.

Taylor blinks at him. Ryan doesn’t wither under the scrutiny anymore, not like he used to, scuttling around the locker room like a shy little woodland creature or something.

Now he just pushes past Taylor, grinning, and lugging what appears to be an actual toolbox, not that Taylor has all that much experience with those.

“Uh, Ebs already left,” Taylor says, breaking the silence. It’s not that he isn’t happy to see Nuge, because even interrupting his nap he is a more than welcome sight. It’s just that Ryan and Jordan tend to hang out on their own sometimes, and the three of them spend a good chunk of time together, but he and Ryan haven’t really had cause to spend time together alone. They see each other so much what with practices and games and travelling on road trips and team appearances and everything else that the little spare time they have left over is mostly spent napping or running errands. Plus Taylor doesn’t like book stores. The fact that Ryan does has done great, great things for his relationship with Jordan, though.

“I know, he called me. He said he didn’t think you’d mind if I came over? I was bored and I found this in Jonesy’s garage and those holes in the walls have been driving me crazy, so I thought I’d fix ‘em?”

He’s holding up a tub of spackling paste. And smiling hopefully at Taylor like if he looks sweet and enthusiastic enough Taylor won’t throw him out and refuse to let him fix the holes in their living room walls.

He’s kind of a weird kid, but Taylor really fucking likes him anyway.

“Knock yourself out,” Taylor grins, and goes into the kitchen to grab some chips. This is going to be entertaining.

An hour later the walls have long since been smoothed over and touched up with paint that ends up coating Taylor’s face as much as anywhere else. His own fault for starting a play fight with someone who doesn’t know how to lose at anything, he thinks, but he’s still smiling when they fall back onto the couch to admire Ryan’s handiwork over some beers Taylor pulls out of the fridge.

Eight hours later Taylor is tucking Ryan into Jordan’s bed, marvelling at the effect a little alcohol had on the kid. He’d blossomed like a fucking flower or something, talking over Taylor, opening right up to him, telling him what Taylor is sure is about 10% of the stuff actually whirring around up there. Even after half a season living in one another’s pockets, Ryan hasn’t completely settled. He’s more relaxed around Taylor and Jordan than anyone else, and Taylor figures it’s a closest-in-age thing. Your first NHL season is really fucking tough, as much as it’s the most fun you’ll have in your life it’s hard work too. It’s an adjustment. And Ryan is definitely an over-thinker. Taylor can see why Ryan and Jordan get along so well, but he wasn’t expecting to find himself thinking that he wouldn’t mind having his own solo bro-dates with Nuge in the future.

It’s only when Taylor is standing outside Jordan’s room, pulling the door closed behind him and thinking about how early he can wake Ryan up to play video games that he realizes he hasn’t thought about Jordan all evening. He hasn’t even checked his phone.

When he does, just before he falls asleep, there’s a text from Jordan.

_Don’t go getting any ideas, I’m still his favorite. :)_

_we’ll see about that_ , Taylor texts back, and drops his phone back onto his bedside table.

He rolls over and punches his pillow and starts to get comfortable.

Then he reaches for his phone again and types out another text.

_miss you x_

 

  
**/ PROLOGUE**

 

-

 

**Jordan's POV**

 

  
Eventually Jordan and Taylor come to share the position of being Ryan's favorite. Jordan could probably make a case for having had it first, but he doesn't, because seeing Taylor and Ryan hang out and get to know one another is more than worth the sharing. Plus it means they get to spend even more time together now, all three of them together. Ryan seems as happy to come over and sit in their living room as he is to go out and do fun stuff with them. Plus he's weirdly good at DIY, and insists on fixing the many, many household fixtures they somehow manage to break.

So they go out together, or stay in together, and when Jordan and Taylor break things, or make especially dumb home furnishing decisions, Ryan swoops in to make the save. They don't discuss it, not really. He's an astute and observant guy, he notices every single time he walks into the apartment and they've added something or had to move the furniture around to conceal another DIY disaster. He doesn't even yell at them, or worse – rattle off that disappointed sigh that most of the adults who wander into their living space tend to end up making.

Sometimes, Jordan thinks Ryan almost looks pleased.

After the ASG weekend and Jordan's rise to fame and glory or whatever Ryan and Taylor were calling it this week, Taylor started making the effort to hang out with Ryan by himself more. It wasn't like he hadn't wanted to before, Jordan had seen firsthand how hard Taylor had to work to conceal his jealousy when Jordan and Ryan spent time together alone. It was never done to exclude Taylor, it just happened that Jordan and Ryan ended up bonding first. Jordan was smaller and quieter and probably put Ryan at ease quicker than Taylor did, because he was very tall and very loud and his shoulders were intimidating. Jordan remembered feeling like the day would never come when he wouldn't struggle to climb Taylor's fortress of muscle and bone and smooth, golden skin when Taylor would try to get him in a celebratory headlock after games.

But that day has long since come and gone, Jordan's found his footholes and he thinks Ryan is starting to find some of his own.

Ryan and Taylor play golf. And go fishing. And Taylor tries to bring Ryan into his plot to make everyone he cares about wear cardigans, but Ryan is staying admirably steadfast in his stance against that.

Mostly when Ryan and Jordan hang out they go to the mall and wander through the electronics store, spending hours in the gaming section. They both buy copies of the same book so they don't have to wait for one another to finish reading before they can talk about it, and Jordan kind of geeks out over their little book club sessions, Taylor's mockery of them sitting together on the bus to talk hurriedly over one another about non-fiction stories about war heroes or some strange and awesome sci-fi book that Ryan had heard about doing absolutely nothing to quell Jordan's excitement.

Ryan is a little younger than them, a whole lot greener, but they both learn just as much from him as they do from the veterans, on and off the ice.

Spending time with him doesn't come between them, not nearly. Jordan and Taylor spend so much time together - playing together, practicing together, living together, spending even their time off together - that it's good for them to take a break, to get to spend a couple of afternoons a week either out with Ryan or at home alone, with time to think and not be half of a whole for a few hours.

Jordan can't say that he doesn't understand Taylor's initial jealousy. He can't say it doesn't make him freeze up, every once in a while, to realize that Taylor and Ryan have been gone all day and neither of them have called him once. But when he shakes those moments off, he ends up reassuring himself of what he has with each of them, what he knows and trusts of _both_ of them - as many warm, familiar moments with Ryan kicking his heartbeat back to rhythm as memories of night's spent sleeping in Taylor's arms, days spent trying to wrestle him to the ice at practice while Ryan watches and laughs and cheers him on but catches a hand in the back of Jordan's pads to even the playing field.

The way Ryan fixes things for them, though, the way he appears to repair their home together without being prompted or asked – all the ways he finds to take care of _them_ \- that's different.

Jordan both appreciates it greatly and doesn't like it at all. 

He doesn't like the way it feels to have Ryan work so hard on something that he has to walk away from that night, or the next morning if they can convince him to stay over. 

He doesn't know why Ryan seems to want to work so hard on things that aren't his problem, definitely aren't his responsibility to fix. 

Jordan doesn't understand it, but he doesn't want it to stop. 

He wants something about the situation to change to make it better, to make it make sense, but he doesn't know what. He and Taylor could start cleaning up their own messes maybe, but then Ryan wouldn't be around as much. As is, he spends nearly as much time in their apartment as they do, he's definitely there way more often than he's at home with the Joneses and Jeff. When they're not at practice or traveling to or playing a game, Jordan and Taylor are out with Ryan. Sometimes together, more often not. When they're at home, he's with them. It's starting to seem like he just goes back to his own place to sleep. 

Jordan doesn't see why he can't just do that with them, too. 

Taylor never sleeps in his own room, Ryan could just crash there. 

-

Ryan had fixed their walls the weekend Jordan had been in Ottawa, and he'd ended up keeping Taylor company while he was home alone. 

Taylor still talks about those three days of video games and staying up late and getting Ryan drunk enough to open up to him like he'd won the lottery on each of those consecutive evenings. Even when Sam and Whits chirp him about the fun he missed out in Cabo, how he might've been the one scoring eight points against Chicago if only he'd found the time to step outside and see the sun on the one vacation they get during the season, Taylor still shakes his head and rolls his eyes at them, and throws an arm around Jordan while he smiles across the room at Ryan or vice versa depending on the situation. Either way, one of them is always within reach and Taylor is a tactile guy who just lives to re-tell the story of the lost weekend of his and Ryan's love or whatever. Not that Jordan's jealous. Coming home to find the two of them passed out curled up together on the sofa had felt a lot like relief, and a little like something else, something too much like loneliness for Jordan's liking. 

The next weekend, Taylor had broken one of the shelves in their pantry by leaning a step-ladder against it in his quest to search the top shelves for a crate of KD that he was certain he'd left there. 

Jordan had taken great delight in chirping Hallsy about his powers of observation and basic understanding of the laws of physics in the locker room after their next game, wondering aloud how he ever managed to send the puck where he wanted it to go and whether maybe he just crashed the net so often that sometimes he got lucky because the puck came with. No sooner had Taylor and Jordan tumbled through their front door, still laughing and shoving at one another, than there had come the sound of the buzzer, and then Ryan's voice, telling them to let him in.

Jordan remembers looking to Taylor, wondering if he'd be surprised or unhappy about the interruption when they'd just gotten home, but he'd only caught the tail end of Taylor's blinding grin as he'd leaned across Jordan to mash the button for the front door so hard that Jordan heard it creak under the pressure of Taylor's enthusiasm. 

Ryan had had his toolbox with him again, and a brand new shelf that he'd claimed Jonesy had had lying around, but Jordan knew the shelves at Jonesy's didn't just happen to exactly match his and Taylor's. Still, he wasn't going to call Ryan on his thoughtfulness. He'd asked Taylor if he thought it was weird, after Ryan had left, but Taylor had shrugged and said at least it made sense now how Ryan had rushed right out of the locker room, showered and changed and like a man on a mission before the rest of them had even wiped the sweat out of their eyes. 

Jordan had helped this time, not doing a ton of the heavy lifting but actually being useful to Ryan while he worked in ways that earned him bright, thankful grins and gentle hands tugging at his wrists to re-position their hold on the shelf. Jordan kept holding it in the wrong place on purpose, just to see the frustrated little frowny face that Ryan would make when he had to correct him, and the way he'd smile at Jordan right after, like he wasn't really mad at Jordan, but at himself, or maybe the shelf. 

Once the shelf was fixed, Jordan had made them all dinner, and they'd wasted the rest of the evening playing video games and teaming up to try and push whoever was winning off the couch. Except when it was Ryan. Then Jordan and Taylor had sat close in against Ryan's sides, watching him work, instead. 

\- 

Not even three days later, it had been the sink in Hallsy's bathroom, but Jordan had been the culprit in this case. 

Taylor always left the damn faucet running, was all, and Jordan didn't have much patience to speak of in the mornings. 

Jordan and Taylor had debated what food to order for lunch while they waited for Ryan to come over, and by the time he arrived they had their choices narrowed down to only a small mountain of menus for Ryan to make the final choice from.

After they'd fed him he'd gone to work, taking apart the entire faucet and doing things like replacing washers and plenty of other strange and complicated processes that he'd explained when Jordan asked, but didn't request help with. 

Taylor and Jordan sat on the counter on either side of the sink, Jordan with his knees pulled up in front of him and both of them leaning back against the mirror with Ryan working away between them, pausing in his task only when he'd turn the tap to check the pressure and Taylor would splash him. Then Ryan would push his bangs off his forehead and wipe his face off with the bottom of his shirt. But he'd laughed every single time, and rolled his eyes at Jordan, still grinning. That'd been the first time Jordan looked at Ryan and wanted to kiss him. His face was still half in concentration mode, his eyes dark and his brow knitted in focus, even his dimples had been just hinted at like this was serious work and no time for shenanigans. The line of his jaw had been harsh, sharp under the fluorescent light and dripping with water, but his smile was wild, _right_ like he wasn't even trying to contain it, and Jordan had curled his fingers around the edge of the counter and bit his own lip and thought about nothing then but home maintenance and the way Taylor's hand felt in his. 

Taylor's bathroom was tiny, he often complained it wasn't even big enough for him, but somehow with the three of them in there together it had felt like a good fit. 

-

After that they'd managed to go a couple weeks without breaking anything or making any hazardous or potentially disastrous changes to their home decor. Ryan had come over a lot to make sure, though.

Well, to hang out.

After Jordan had found himself thinking about kissing Ryan he'd withdrawn from him as much as he could bear to. Which wasn't much at all. He'd sent Taylor out on as many bro-dates with Ryan as he could, to make it so Ryan didn't have time to spend alone with him, and when they did wind up out together without Taylor, Jordan would talk about him constantly. For his own sake, and nothing else. Not because he thought Ryan needed a reminder that he had a boyfriend, but because Jordan did.

That wasn't something Jordan ever thought he'd have to say about himself. He's never been a cheater. He'd never so much as thought about someone else when he was in a relationship, and here he found himself in the most rock solid relationship he'd ever been in – he was totally in love with Taylor and knew Taylor felt the same way, everybody did, they were dumb for one another and not at all ashamed to show it – and still, thinking about Ryan like that hadn't felt wrong, hadn't felt like something he should beat himself up over. Instead, Jordan drove himself crazy overthinking it. He couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't right, but nothing about the situation felt like something he could pinpoint as 'wrong', either. Ryan made it seem ... inevitable. Like having him with them made them complete, brought them closer together.

He couldn't, though. It couldn't be like that. Whether Jordan wanted it or not, there were two other people here whose feelings he had to consider, and Jordan really couldn't see Taylor and Ryan being totally down for feeding his greed, for giving him everything he wanted just because he wanted it. That wasn't how it worked.

So Jordan pushed Ryan away as gently as he could – by letting Taylor catch him and keep him close.

They began to spend more and more time together, all three of them, and Jordan could almost forget about why that was until he'd realize every once in a while that the only reason he wasn't thinking about it was because he had it, or as close a thing to it as he'd ever get.

It was easy not to think about pulling Ryan down into his bed when Jordan had Taylor pulling him _and_ Ryan down onto it to watch a movie, to spend an afternoon curled together half asleep before the time came to get up and go out and set one another up for goals, pass one another pucks as easy and automatically as they handed one another drinks and picked up one another's phones and helped each other check their skates, straighten out their pads.

There in Jordan's room, in Taylor and Jordan's apartment, they fell together just like they did on a power play – always exactly where they needed one another to be. Ryan an addition, but only an extension of what Taylor and Jordan had always been. Once easy balance; now a tic-tac-toe that scored goals and felt like home.

-

Then Ryan had branched out into new methods to drive Jordan insane.

Instead of fixing the things they'd broken, he'd bring them things that only he knew how to assemble.

Jordan couldn't help but feel like Ryan was installing more than bookshelves and coffee tables.

Taylor and he would watch Ryan work, and Jordan would think he'd see Taylor's eyes following the bead of sweat rolling down the back of Ryan's neck as he stooped to set up the barbecue out on their balcony now that the weather was almost good enough.

It was a hot day, but not the kind you could predict or count on yet, and Jordan had made lemonade and painfully bitten his tongue when he'd thought of both of them as his 'boyfriend'. As his boyfriend _s_. He'd gasped against the sting, not confined to his mouth, and Taylor and Ryan had both looked at him, looked to him in unison, wearing matching expressions of concern. Jordan had had to say something about having forgotten he was supposed to meet Sutts for lunch, and ran away to hide.

He'd driven around for hours, going nowhere at all, and thought about how he didn't want to go back to just that.

-

Sometimes Ryan comes over with his tools, with cans of paint and rolls of electrical tape and screwdrivers and wall hooks, and ends up leaving it all piled up inside the front door because Taylor or Jordan distract him with something else instead.

Sometimes it's Taylor dragging Ryan off to check out the new grips he got for his golf clubs.

Other times it's Jordan tugging Ryan into the kitchen to get a second opinion on a new recipe he's braving for dinner that night, looking at the floor when Ryan leans in to close his mouth around the spoon Jordan proffers.

Sometimes they just run out of things for him to fix, Ryan going so far as to ask if they need him to come over and do anything.

The first time Jordan says 'no' Ryan says 'oh', quiet and almost disappointed, but any note of that quickly forgotten when Jordan tells him to come over anyway.

Now Ryan doesn't ask, doesn't seem to think it matters all that much _why_ they want him there.

Either he's fixing things or he's sprawled across their sofa, leaning against the counters in the kitchen, wandering around in his sock feet like there's nowhere else he'd be.

Eitherway, he's there.

 

-

 

One day Jordan answers the door and can't even see Nuge for the pile of boxes he's got stacked high in his arms.

He can make out instructional diagrams on the boxes, though, so he makes an educated guess.

“What are you building today, handyman Ryan?”

Ryan's grinning face appears over the top of the stack, and it wobbles precariously when he shrugs.

“Just a little ... bookshelf, thing, nothing major.”

“No structural work? You don't need me to go direct your team of contracters through to the south wing or anything?”

Jordan ushers Ryan in and doesn't take any of the boxes, uses the opportunity to ogle his ass instead because what Jordan really needs here is more things to feel guilty about.

Ryan laughs as he bends over to set the bookshelves on the floor under the window and Jordan wonders how long it has to have been since your last confession before prayers stop getting transferred or whatever.

Ryan's wearing tight black jeans and Jordan thinks there probably isn't a God, anyway.

“You're referring to the dining room as a wing, now? Is that air mattress a 'suite'?”

“And it's all yours, buddy, never say we don't treat you right,” Taylor says from the doorway, grinning at Ryan.

His smile starts to slip when he looks at Jordan.

 

-

 

They both pitch in to help get the shelves set up, because it's the easiest project Ryan has ever sprung on them and it means they can watch their hands and not have to look at one another or Ryan.

Neither of them says anything when it turns out that one of the boxes Ryan had lugged up contains roughly every book Ryan owns, if Jordan's estimations are right.

Instead, they each reach for a handful and start a great debate on whether they should be organized by genre or author.

The bookshelves look good, dark mahogany that looks simple and classy and most importantly easy to polish, but the shelves are a little bare, less than a quarter full with just Ryan's books and nothing else.

When they're all done, Ryan disappears, and comes back a second later with his arms full of Jordan's books, having scooped them up from where they'd previously been stored in haphazard piles on his windowsill, on the floor underneath.

It looks good, their combined collection, even if they've got double copies of a ton of novels.

It looks even better when Jordan walks by it the next morning and sees that at some stage during the night Hallsy had added his golf books, his autobiographies and fishing magazines in between Ryan and Jordan's fiction and science fiction, Jordan's crime novels and Ryan's graphic novels. The shelves are almost full now, books and magazines all different sizes and colors, packed tight in against one another so from anything further than a foot away Jordan can't even tell who owns what.

Eventually they'll forget anyway, so Jordan doesn't think it matters.

 

-

 

The next time they're playing video games, Ryan plops down into Jordan's seat and pushes Hallsy to sit on the cushion to his left, the one they use next most after their recliners, but still relatively brand new compared to those.

Hallsy goes, squirms around in the seat for a minute and then says,

'Okay why am I sitting here?'

Jordan watches Ryan's answer, waiting for his smile.

'You're helping me break that in,' Ryan says.

Taylor shrugs and keeps squirming.

Jordan watches with interest when he isn't too busy ignoring the heat of Ryan's thigh pressed up alongside his.

 

-

 

Jordan is helping Taylor and Ryan load the back of Ryan's truck up with fishing gear when he almost breaks Ryan's first framed jersey. It's a near thing, he almost steps on it where it's lying half under an equipment bag, but he sees the corner of it through the ripped paper covering it, and pulls it out.

“Ryan what the hell? You've got nowhere better to put this?”

Ryan looks up from where he's helping Taylor de-tangle a couple of lures and frowns.

“Like where? There's no point hanging it up at Jonesy's place. My parents already have one. I could put it in storage, I guess ...”

Jordan thinks about Ryan's first NHL jersey gathering dust somewhere that no-one will ever see it.

“Maybe. I'm gonna take it upstairs today, so it doesn't get broken under the weight of all this crap,” he says quietly, but Ryan and Taylor aren't really listening anyway.

Jordan hauls it back up to the apartment and sets it against the wall where his and Hallsy's jerseys hang. He spends most of the day lying on the sofa reading, but every time he turns his head or goes to the kitchen to grab a drink or snack he can't help but look at the jersey and think it looks somehow out of place, wrong just propped against a wall like that, beneath the other two.

The landline rings late that afternoon and it's a wrong number, but when Jordan follows the trill of the cordless phone he finds it sitting on top of a pile of Ryan's tools in the utility room, and it feels like fate when Jordan sets the phone back down into its base and realizes he's still holding Ryan's hammer in his other hand.

This is technically Ryan's job or something, and Jordan worries that he's overstepping, being presumptuous or worse - hopeful, but he hangs Ryan's jersey next to his and Taylor's anyway. His stomach turns over as he works, trying so hard to remember everything he's ever seen Ryan do so he gets this right and doesn't end up only adding to Ryan's repair list. Jordan's hands shake as he holds the tiny bracket steady against the wall and his heart beats in time with the too fast tap-tap-tap of the hammer. He feels sick, the thrill of 'maybe' roiling foreign in his stomach, something he started but can't let himself have; what he wants but nothing he can call his.

An hour later Ryan and Taylor pour back in through the door, bringing with them freshly caught fish for dinner and the smell of sunshine and crisp spring air.

Jordan waves at them from the couch and would feel dumb for it if they both didn't wave back. Eventually Jordan gets up to start deboning fish while they shower, Ryan asking if he can use Jordan's bathroom and towels and Jordan nodding because he doesn't trust himself to actually answer, still swallowing thickly at the thought of Ryan naked and wet where Jordan jerks off.

When Ryan comes back into the kitchen Jordan is honestly too distracted to worry about what he'll say when he sees that Jordan has hung his jersey with theirs, because Ryan is shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of dark grey sweats slung low on his hips and scrubbing a towel through his wet hair. That's nothing Jordan doesn't see basically every day, but it's different _here_ , with Ryan wearing Jordan's clothes and smiling only at Jordan, no-one else there to distract them, nothing to cover up the tiny noise Jordan breathes, or the way his teeth clack when his jaw clenches too tight.

Jordan stupidly wants to cower away from Ryan when he comes close, when he leans back against the counter right next to Jordan. He smells like Jordan's shower gel, and he's so much smaller than Taylor in ways that make the thick stretch of muscle across his shoulders and down along his arms look somehow obscene, his hands and wrists so thin and delicate, the cut of his ribs and hipbones stark compared to the swell of his pecs, the rise of muscle up over his hips something Jordan wants to feel under his hands, wants to know with his _teeth_.

“-- do today?”

Jordan has to blink and shake his head to clear his thoughts.

“Huh?”

When he turns to look at Ryan he wishes he hadn't. He's got freckles from his day out in the sun with Taylor. And then he throws his head back and laughs, and Jordan has to look at his throat. Now is not the time to be operating sharp knives.

“Are you still asleep? Tell me you didn't spend the entire afternoon napping. I asked what you did today.”

“Oh. Right. I – no, I didn't nap. I read mostly, watched a little tv.”

“Waited for us to come home, right?” Ryan asks, and it's a joke, but it's so close to the truth that Jordan's chuckle sounds forced even to him.

They talk about Ryan and Taylor's day for a while, but Jordan is distracted, quiet and lost in his own thoughts or more specifically trying _not_ to get lost in his own thoughts, and eventually Ryan wanders off to keep himself entertained, telling Jordan he'll leave him to his work, probably thinking he's trying to concentrate on what he's doing.

Jordan doesn't remember the jersey until he hears a sharp intake of breath, and leans over the counter, cranes his neck to see Ryan standing in front of it.

“Oh,” they both say at the same time, and Jordan's starting to explain himself, about to apologize, but Ryan says it softly, so softly that Jordan's knees buckle under it.

“It looks good,” Ryan says finally, and he's ducking his head and nervously carding his hand through the hair at the back of his head, but Jordan can see the dimples framing his smile even before Ryan looks up to show it to him.

“I thought ... I hope it's okay,” Jordan says, to make sure, but Ryan's shaking his head gently before he even finishes the sentence.

“I couldn't put it anywhere else,” Ryan says, and Jordan will still be replaying that sentence and the way Ryan says it over in his head when he falls asleep tonight, and tomorrow night, and the night after that. It should sound like Ryan's saying he didn't _have_ anywhere else to put it, and that might be true, but it seems like he's saying something else entirely.

Taylor comes in then, dressed and dried off from his shower, and asks what's going on.

Ryan looks at Jordan before he turns around.

“Look what Jordan did,” he says, and he nearly sounds proud, his grin clear all over his words.

Taylor comes over to stand next to Ryan and 'hmms', and Jordan is nervous all over again, scared of what Taylor what might say, what he must think. But when he speaks it's only to marvel at how Jordan managed to hang it right without Ryan's help, and later when he's helping Jordan carry plates over to the couch he catches Jordan with a hand around his waist and presses him back against the fridge, kisses him deep and gentle, careful in ways he never is.

It kind of feels like a first kiss.

 

-

 

That weekend they all go out together, for a change. They spend all of their time together, and at least fifty per cent of that involves going out and doing things, but this time they're out with most of the team and it's the first time in a while that that's happened. It's different from how it used to be. Jordan is aware of Ryan in most of the ways he's aware of Taylor, now. This is the first time that they've been out and Jordan has holed up in a corner with Taylor _and_ Ryan for the entire night, like they're out on a group date or something. He wonders if it's him, if he pulled Ryan into their orbit and is doing something to make him feel like he has to stay there, but even when conversation wanes Ryan stays put, and Taylor is the one sitting pressed up against him tonight, with his arm up over the back of the booth behind Ryan, a move that clearly doesn't seem strange to anyone but Jordan, who doesn't want to know which hurts worse to imagine – Taylor being interested in Ryan or Taylor _not_ being interested in Ryan.

It's just Hallsy being Hallsy though, showing his usual total disregard for the personal space of others, and Jordan doesn't think about why Taylor basically has his arm around Ryan when his boyfriend is sitting right there next to him.

It's a nice night once Jordan drinks just enough to feel mostly over it, and Jordan loves this team. Aside from Taylor and Ryan, above and beyond that, he loves these guys. He can't imagine ever playing anywhere other than Edmonton, so being one of the faces of the franchise is making him feel particularly lucky tonight. He's nearing thirty goals, is having the best season of his career to date, and the team is improving. Almost everything is slowly but surely falling into place.

Jordan is loose and happy when they leave the bar, when he and Taylor tug Ryan down between them into a cab.

Ryan isn't quite as drunk as Jordan is because he's had about half as much to drink as Jordan has, and he's steady on his feet, relatively clear gazed still. But he's more drunk than Jordan has ever seen him, and he's talkative, almost chatty when they get him back to the apartment. Taylor had been the one buying him drinks, so Jonesy and Jeff had waved them off, instructed them to return their rookie changed and clean and sober tomorrow morning.

They all change out of their jeans and shirts, Ryan disappearing into Taylor's room with him and the two of them appearing a moment later wearing matching flannel pyjama pants, the ones Jordan's mom had bought for him and Taylor at Christmas. Jordan hadn't even realized he'd left his in Taylor's room, but he'd have given them to Ryan if Ryan had asked. They look good on him. Jordan doesn't think about whether Ryan looks better in them next to Taylor than he does.

Jordan goes to the kitchen to grab snacks and three gatorades, because he's a hungry drunk, and then they settle down to watch tv, too lazy to play video games or pay attention to the plot of a movie.

Ryan keeps talking, though, keeps up a steady stream of conversation like he's saying everything that occurs to him out loud, and it's awesome. Jordan is more than happy to lie back against the corner of the couch with his legs thrown up over Ryan's knees, his feet in Taylor's lap, listening to Ryan and watching the way his face grows more and more animated as he talks. He isn't rambling, Jordan's pretty sure he isn't capable of anything other than clear and precise conversation, no matter how wasted he might be, but he doesn't shut up, barely pauses to take a breath, talking about what they're watching and some show he saw last week that this reminds him of and some show he wants them to remind him to check out, and everything and anything that pops into his head.

Taylor asks questions, responds to keep Ryan talking and Jordan figures out why when he asks,

“Nugget, what's the deal with the DIY bit?”

Ryan frowns for a second, almost pouting and then scrunching his mouth up to one side like he's being scolded.

Jordan steps in.

“Hey, no, it's not like we mind or anything, you do a ton for us and we really appreciate it, it's just ... you know you don't have to, right? You know we don't expect it?”

Ryan smiles then, but it looks off. It's like the smile was broken out of another moment, from another time, and pasted onto Ryan's face now. It doesn't fit.

“I know you don't need anything from me,” he says, and Jordan immediately wants to protest, but doesn't trust himself to. Ryan continues, anyway.

“I like doing it. I like feeling useful. It gives me something to do and something to focus on and something to take my mind off ... other things, everything else I guess.”

“Why here, though, why us?” Taylor asks, and Jordan doesn't know what to make of the expression on his face, the way he's looking between Ryan and Jordan like he's looking right through them, like he's seeing something past them.

Ryan shrugs, but there's nothing careless or dismissive about it, he's gone totally still under Jordan's calves, his hands on Jordan's knees fidgeting to hide their tremble.

“It wouldn't be the same with anyone else. I wouldn't want to, for anyone else. You guys kind of took me in, took me under your wing and when I fix things for you it doesn't feel like I'm paying you back for that or like you owe me anything, it just seems like something I can do that benefits all of us.”

Jordan wants to push him, wants to get him to keep talking until the things Jordan thinks he hears in Ryan's voice, in his words, either come tumbling out into the open or never appear at all, were never there to begin with.

He doesn't. He already has too much to think about, too far to fight to keep this together.

Taylor puts his arm around Ryan's shoulders and pulls him into a hug, holds him in against his side and tells him that he's always welcome here, that Jordan and Taylor love having him around no matter why he's here or what they're doing.

“Feel free to fix the light in the fridge next time you come over, though,” Taylor adds, grinning over Ryan's head at Jordan, and for the moment everything is okay again, exactly like it was before.

 

-

 

The next time they get a day off and don't have anything else they'd rather do, they let Ryan convince them to come to Ikea with him. He's been talking about it for months, and Taylor doesn't care how they spend their time once he's with one or both of them, but Jordan's been putting it off, making excuses. Ryan fixing their place up is one thing, but buying brand new things for it and thinking about how they're for him and Taylor and not him and Taylor and Ryan is something Jordan doesn't really want to do now or ever. He can only keep them busy for so long, though, and he can't think of a single reason for avoiding the trip this time that he hasn't used at least once before.

Ryan arrives at like 8am. On their day off. To make them go to Ikea.

Jordan is half in love with the guy and everything, but he finds it in himself to hate Ryan just a little bit when he hears his key in the lock. At least Jordan doesn't have to get out of bed to let him in, though, so telling Ryan to keep the spare key he'd had to water the plants he'd started collecting in their apartment over Christmas had been a big win for them, Jordan decides.

There's a pause and a quiet shuffling sound, Ryan toeing off his shoes and hanging up his jacket, Jordan thinks, and then Ryan appears in the doorway to Jordan's bedroom, already grinning and practically trembling with excitement. He's a fucking dork, and Jordan's more than half in love with him.

Ryan sees he's awake and comes in, lying down on top of the covers next to Jordan because he has become truly skilled in the art of waking both Jordan and Taylor up in the ways that work best for them. With Taylor you've got to spring it on him, launch a total assault on his sleeping form. Drag him out of bed, pull his covers away, make as much noise as you possibly can – the works. He's grouchy for all of five seconds, and then his 'up and at 'em' attitude is back in full force.

Jordan's mornings are a far more delicate endeavor, though. He likes lying in bed for a while after he's woken up, likes the illusion that it's his decision to get up eventually.

Ryan doesn't say anything until Jordan rolls over to face him, and he takes Jordan's tired smile as permission to speak.

“Hi,” is all he says, and Jordan can't even handle that. Ryan is lying on his bed fully dressed, here to take Jordan shopping for things he needs for his apartment with his boyfriend, and when Jordan looks at Ryan all he sees is someone who could just as easily be his boyfriend, _should_ be, Jordan thinks. Jordan wants to lean in and kiss Ryan, to pull Ryan in and bury his face in Ryan's neck and beg him to let them go back to sleep together, just for a little while, just for a minute. The worst part about wanting it is that it still isn't something Jordan can bring himself to feel truly guilty for. It's wrong, and it'll never happen, but he still wants it and he doesn't think he'll ever stop.

Jordan clears his throat and says “Good morning,” his voice rumbling up out of his chest still thick and scratchy with sleep. Ryan's gaze drops to his mouth and for one terrifying and thrilling second Jordan actually thinks Ryan leans in. But that's ridiculous. Jordan rolls away from Ryan, gets out of the other side of the bed and starts to rifle through his drawers for something to wear. When he glances back to the bed over his shoulder Ryan is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and scrubbing a hand over his face like he's the one who just woke up.

“Go wake Hallsy, let's get this show on the road,” Jordan says, and Ryan nods without looking at him, leaves without looking back.

 

-

 

Ikea is kind of awesome, Jordan will grudgingly admit. Even Taylor gets actively into the outing, lighting up when he sees the home entertainment section. Why they'd need a unit that takes up the entire living room wall of their apartment is beyond Jordan, and never going to happen, but Taylor seems pretty delighted by just the idea.

Ryan is in his element. He has a list. It's color-coded. Jordan is horrified and impressed and maybe a little turned on.

So they work their way methodically through the sprawling warehouse, the bright lights and solid blocks of dull colors doing great things for Taylor's tan and Ryan's excited flush. They mostly pick up things for the kitchen, Ryan dragging Jordan to displays that he knows Jordan won't be able to resist, because he is merciless in his plot to make Jordan bake for him. Jordan's a passable cook, good enough that he can throw together half-decent meals when he's bored of pre-prepared food and Taylor's KD obsession. When he was a kid he'd always help his mom bake, though, cakes and scones and tarts and cookies that he remembers being a lot of fun to make. He'd made the mistake of mentioning that to Ryan, who has a sweet tooth, and now dessert recipe books keep appearing on their bookshelves.

They get some new lamps, new lighting fixtures for every room, and Ryan wants to install some new skirting boards, so they place an order for lengths of that. They pick up things for the dining room, which has become something of a pet project for Ryan. He can't make a decision over a dining table, spends literally thirty five minutes 'hmming' over three sets that look exactly the same to Jordan, and then decides he'll have to think about it some more and come back. He's still looking back over his shoulder longingly when Taylor and Jordan take one of his hands each and drag him to the bathroom fixtures, and Jordan thinks he must imagine how it feels like Ryan squeezes his hand, just once.

They get new shower curtains, and honest to god soap dishes, because Ryan insists, and what Ryan wants he gets, today. And every other day, with them.

A skirmish almost breaks out when they get to the checkout, but Taylor wins in the end and hands over his credit card to pay for everything.

“Thanks, babe,” Jordan says, leaning up on his tiptoes to kiss Taylor on the cheek and Taylor smiles.

Then he turns to Ryan and meaningfully taps his other cheek, raising his eyebrows and looking expectantly at Ryan until Ryan rolls his eyes and leans in to quickly press a kiss above Taylor's finger, biting at it playfully when he pulls away.

It turns out to be one of best days off Jordan can ever remember having.

 

-

 

Taylor drives home, and they stop off for dinner, quickly grabbing something boring and excruciatingly healthy so they can stop again for ice cream at their usual place. They almost always bring Ryan with them, now, but the rule is that if he's there then they both have to be, neither of them can take him without the other. Jordan thinks it should be a rule that he and Taylor don't come here on their own anymore, either, but Ryan never tries to tie them to that. Not that he could, really, but Jordan likes to think about what it would be like if he wanted to. It doesn't really matter, they haven't been here alone since right back at the beginning of the season, when Ryan was brand new and not theirs for keeps, not yet.

Taylor gets plain old strawberry, like always. Jordan gets a scoop of mint chocolate, one of pistachio and one Belgian chocolate, with hot fudge over everything. Ryan tried a lot of different flavors when they first started bringing him here, but he's starting to settle on the strangest combination known to man and Jordan Eberle – one scoop of mint chocolate and one of strawberry swirl, with white chocolate ice cream sandwiched between, and whipped cream and chopped nuts on top. He seems pretty stoked about it, though, so who is Jordan to judge. He hopes that cuts both ways for anyone who notices the way he watches Ryan lick whipped cream off his spoon with the tip of his tongue.

Ryan sits next to Jordan on one side of their booth, and Taylor spreads out across from them, bumping his knees against both of theirs under the table because he can never sit still. He smiles every time they glare at him, and when Ryan turns to Jordan to shake his head in despair, Taylor laughs.

When they're almost finished their ice cream Taylor reaches out for Jordan's hand while he and Ryan talk about playing golf this weekend if the weather is nice enough.

Taylor laces their fingers together between Jordan's knees, and Jordan loves him.

 

-

 

A couple of days later, Taylor and Jordan are sitting on the couch making out, waiting for Ryan to get here so they can have a mini video game tournament, when the door buzzes.

Jordan pulls away, shifts back in Taylor's lap to look down at him, and Taylor is looking dazed and a little confused and a lot like someone that's just been making out with Jordan. They probably should have taken care of this earlier, but -

“Wouldn't Ryan just use his key?”

Taylor frowns.

“Maybe not, if he thought we'd be naked or ... doing this, I guess?”

Ryan always uses his key, though. And calls in advance. That's his tried and tested method, and it hasn't failed them yet.

Jordan reluctantly climbs off of Taylor to go answer the buzzer, even though he really doesn't want to, wants to even less when Taylor's hands fist in the front of his hoody and try to pull him back down. When he finally manages to break the hold and get to the intercom, it's a delivery dude, who says he has something to deliver to this address. He repeats their apartment number and everything, so Jordan lets him up, even though he definitely hasn't ordered anything, and Taylor says he hasn't either. Maybe he forgot. It wouldn't be the first time.

When Jordan goes to get the door, it opens before he can reach for the handle.

“Oh, hey,” Ryan says, and then turns around to direct the two guys who are following him, carrying a huge box. Containing a giant flatscreen tv, one like twice the size of the one Taylor and Jordan already have.

“What's that?” Jordan asks, confused.

“I got us a new tv,” Ryan says, shrugging, still watching the delivery guys, making sure they don't knock into any of his carefully maintained and arranged furniture, Jordan assumes.

“Us?” Taylor asks, looking up at Ryan over the back of the sofa.

“Oh,” he says, blushing now, “I meant you guys. I got you a new tv. Surprise?”

Jordan looks at Taylor, who just lifts his hands and nods toward Ryan as if to say 'I don't know man, you're the one who speaks 'rookie''.

“You didn't have to do that, Ryan. It must have cost a ton.”

Ryan shrugs again, and doesn't look at Jordan, seems to be highly entertained by watching his own feet instead.

“I'm 18 years old and I'm a professional hockey player. I think it's in my contract that I have to make a super self-indulgent purchase or they take my salary away or something,” he tries, lifting his head to smile at Jordan like it pains him to do so.

“Yeah but you're supposed to buy stuff for yourself,” Jordan reminds him.

“Eh, this is mostly for me. I'm gonna go blind squinting at that little screen you call a tv. How am I supposed to keep beating you both at every video game ever if I let you continue with that kind of sabotage?”

Taylor's eyes go wide, and he actually brings his hand up to cover his mouth, such is the magnitude of his stunned delight. He grabs Ryan in a headlock then, and in the ensuing scuffle the delivery guys manage to slip out, leaving Jordan with a brand new tv and a ton of questions.

They get it all set up - well, Ryan does - and then they settle in to play Mario Kart to warm up.

“You know if you ever want to come over and watch something on this, you have to,” Jordan says, leaning with his controller when he twists the wheel, because he can't break himself of the habit.

“Yeah, because you still need an excuse to come over,” Taylor says, and Jordan can _hear_ him rolling his eyes.

“You can't watch porn on it, though, that's weird and this tv is a sacred object,” Taylor adds.

Ryan laughs.

“Yeah, because I need to watch porn with you two all over each other in front of me all the time. Rookie on board, you guys. Won't someone please think of the children, etc.”

Jordan's brain stutters to a stop, and his car goes up in flames.

“Wait, you're into dudes?” he blurts before he can stop himself.

This time both Taylor and Ryan laugh.

“You're lucky you're so pretty, Ebs,” is all Taylor says.

“He's also okay at hockey,” Ryan reminds him.

Because Jordan is cruelly bullied in his own home environment.

So Ryan likes guys. That changes ... absolutely nothing, probably. But it certainly seems set to make things even more difficult, especially if he keeps insinuating that he gets off on watching Taylor and Jordan's PDAs.

Jordan's life is pretty much the worst.

 

-

 

After that night they don't see Ryan for a couple of days, outside of games and practice. They call and text, but he says he's busy, he's coming down with something, he has to put in extra time at the gym.

Jordan doesn't like seeing Ryan getting flattened by guys five times his size any more than anyone else does, even if his reaction isn't quite as zealous as Taylor's, but Ryan needs to be careful he doesn't overdo it, Jordan thinks.

Mostly he just misses him. Two days feels like forever in ways that Jordan can't really deal with. Wanting to make out with Ryan is one thing, and wanting him around all the time comes hand in hand with that, probably. But moping because he's only seen him for something like 6 hours out of the last forty eight is excessive, and slightly worrying.

Jordan would be more stressed about it if Taylor wasn't listlessly wandering around the apartment checking his phone every five seconds too.

 

-

 

Then Ryan comes back like nothing happened. Like he was never gone at all. Jordan wakes up the next morning, shuffles into the kitchen to make coffee, and drinks two mugs before he notices Ryan's keys on the counter. He stares at them for a second, blinking at the purple furry rabbit keyring Taylor had gotten Ryan as a joke, wondering if he drank too much caffeine too fast and is now lightheaded and seeing things, but then he hears a noise from the dining room. He doesn't exactly sprint in there, but it's a near thing.

Ryan is sitting at the dining room table that he finally decided on (and insisted on paying for), eating a poptart and looking through what appear to be color swatches. He looks up when Jordan comes in and grins sheepishly.

“Hey, I let myself in, I hope that's okay.”

Jordan is so relieved that he's here, so happy to see him, trying so hard not to have to hold a hand over his heart where it's beating tight and fast, full and frantic in his chest. He compromises, and goes over to stand next to Ryan. Then he says 'fuck compromise' and lets himself push a hand through Ryan's hair and then let his arm fall around Ryan's shoulders.

“If I have to tell you one more time that you're always welcome here then I'm going to start leaving the front door unlocked to get the message across. People will steal all the nice things you've got us, and you'll feel terrible and it'll be all your own fault.”

Ryan laughs softly, and leans in, rests his head against Jordan's waist, his cheek touching Jordan's bare skin where his tshirt is rucked up over his pyjama pants.

“Shut up and help me pick out a color for in here,” Ryan says, and Jordan feels the hum of Ryan's voice against his side, a shiver up along his spine and a pang that makes his stomach drop.

He ruffles Ryan's hair and then moves away to sit across the table from him, ignoring every single instinct he has to stay put, to move closer.

“What are you fixing today?” Jordan asks.

“I've really only got this room left to work on, unless you've come around on the hot tub idea?” Ryan asks hopefully.

Jordan laughs.

“We live in Edmonton. And where would we put it?”

“On the balcony, duh.”

“It's too narrow!”

“You can get rectangular shaped ones! They're smaller, it would totally fit,” Ryan tries.

“They're too small. The three of us wouldn't fit,” Jordan says, without thinking about it.

Ryan looks up at him and Jordan stares back.

“You and Hallsy, would, though,” Ryan says, looking back down at his swatches.

“Yeah well ... no. So tough luck. Nice try. Better luck next time,” Jordan says, reaching for half the pile, wondering why Ryan pulls his hand away like he's been scalded when their fingers touch.

“I'm thinking a bright, pale grey,” Ryan says, changing the subject, not yet admitting defeat.

“I'm thinking you do whatever you want, and Taylor and I will smile and say thanks,” Jordan says.

“Your smiling faces are all the thanks I need,” Ryan says, reaching across the table to poke Jordan in the cheek.

“You're a strange kid,” Jordan says, grinning.

“Eh, you like me anyway,” Ryan shrugs, polishing off his poptart and pulling open a brochure on silverware.

And Jordan can't argue with that.

 

-

 

Then everything goes very quickly straight to hell. Ryan falls awkwardly during a game and separates his shoulder, and it looks like he's going to be out for a few weeks at least. That's a disaster as far as their team is concerned, but Jordan and Taylor take it pretty hard personally too.

Ryan is standoffish about it. He tells them the same things he tells the media, pretty much word for word, and then refuses to talk about it any further. He gets distant, and frustrated, but Jordan can only tell because he watches Ryan so closely, because he's come to know him so well. To anyone else Ryan is being patient, but Jordan sees him start to fray around the edges, sees it in how he pulls away from him and Taylor, how he spends all his time playing video games and sleeping, according to Jeff and Jonesy, who are worried about him too.

He's still Ryan, so he isn't rude or angry. He doesn't lash out or yell. It's worse that he doesn't, because Jordan can see how he's turning his frustration inward, bottling it up and blaming himself. Every time someone asks him about how it happened Jordan sees the small shake of Ryan's head, the brief purse of his mouth that Jordan knows to read as disgust, disappointment in himself.

Jordan wants to give Ryan space, and at first Taylor agrees, but then three days pass and Ryan isn't snapping out of it, isn't reaching out for them, and Taylor loses what little patience he had.

He corners Jordan in the kitchen early one morning and says,

“We're going to get Nuge today.”

Jordan frowns.

“'Get him' like ... pick him up? Why? Are we going somewhere? Did we have plans?”

“'Get him' like get him back,” Taylor says, and Jordan doesn't know what to say to that.

Taylor is serious. About as serious as Jordan has ever seen him, calm and sure and certain that this is what they need to do, this is what they're _going_ to do.

Jordan nods, and Taylor leans in and kisses him, then pulls Jordan into a hug and cups his skull in his hand, holds Jordan against him and keeps him steady when he starts to shake.

“It's gonna be okay,” Taylor says quietly, and Jordan doesn't know what he means, exactly. He doesn't know what he wants Taylor to mean. But he believes him.

 

-

 

Ryan opens the door in the same sweatpants he was wearing the last time they saw him, and a white tshirt that has what looks like tomato soup stains on the hem.

He doesn't smile at them, just kind of nods, and turns and walks away. He leaves the door open, though, so Jordan and Taylor look at one another and then follow him into the house.

They end up sitting on Ryan's bed. The room is a mess, and the curtains are still closed. Jordan has never seen Ryan's room with so much as an unmade bed.

“What do you want,” Ryan asks, finally, looking at his hands.

“We wanted to see if you were okay,” Taylor asks, carefully, and it's strange to hear his voice sound like that, almost like he's nervous.

Ryan laughs, this bitter, dark sound that isn't anything Jordan ever wants to hear again.

“I'm injured,” he says.

“That's not what I meant,” Taylor replies quietly.

Ryan gets up off the bed and walks across his room, kicking dirty clothes and magazines out of his way as he goes. He pushes his hands up into his hair and takes a deep breath and when he turns back to them his eyes are bright and wide with an inexplicable combination of fury and fear.

“I'm injured,” he says again, stressing it cruelly like they didn't hear him the first time, like they don't get it. “I'm injured and I'm useless and it's my own fault and I can't do anything, I can't help you, I can't be what you need, I can't – I'm not -” his voice cracks, and he claps a hand over his mouth like he's going to be sick. Jordan isn't sure that he's not about to throw up too.

Jordan gets off the bed and wrenches Ryan's hand away from his mouth, shushes him when Ryan tries to speak, and drags Ryan back across the room to his bed, to Taylor.

He pushes Ryan down to sit between them, and shushes him again when he tries to talk, does it just harshly enough that Ryan listens, eyes still wide but somehow pleading now.

Jordan looks across Ryan at Taylor, and Taylor is watching him, waiting for something. When Jordan doesn't do anything, Taylor does. He turns toward the two of them and pulls them both into a hug, drags Ryan in against his chest and then reaches for Jordan, pulls him in so he's kind of hugging Ryan from behind, one arm loosely around his waist and his face pressed to Ryan's shoulder, his other hand tangled with Taylor's on the bed behind Ryan.

Ryan falls into it. He hides his face in Taylor's shirt and curls in against him, one arm around Taylor and his other laid along Jordan's arm around him, his hand cupping Jordan's elbow and holding on tight.

Jordan speaks quietly to Ryan's back, to the warm curve of his shoulder blade through his shirt, careful not to hold him too tight, careful not to hurt Ryan as he hurts himself instead.

“You're exactly what we need,” Jordan says.

“You're not on your own,” Taylor adds, “you don't have to do anything alone.”

“We're here no matter what,” Jordan says.

“And there's nothing we can't do, the three of us together,” Taylor finishes.

Ryan sighs, but he curls further into Taylor's chest, grips Jordan's elbow tight enough to bruise.

When he finally pulls away, he looks better. Brighter. Flushed with something like embarrassment, but with the beginnings of a small smile on his face.

“Thanks, you guys,” he says quietly, and he sounds almost like himself again.

“We didn't do anything,” Taylor says, pulling Ryan in for another quick hug and smiling almost grimly at Jordan over the top of his head.

Jordan will think about that when he isn't worried about Ryan falling apart.

“I'm gonna go shower and get changed, then we could go for a walk or something?” Ryan asks, and Jordan wants to curl up against Taylor's chest himself, with the relief.

So Ryan leaves the room, and Taylor and Jordan wordlessly start to clean up, to gather Ryan's clothes into his laundry hamper and open his curtains and make his bed.

When he comes back he pauses in the doorway, looks from Taylor to Jordan, but doesn't say a word.

Jordan is proud of him, somehow, proud of them for making it to the point where Ryan will accept their help, even if it's just something tiny like cleaning up his mess.

They drive out to lake, and Ryan is still subdued on the way out, not talking very much but not ignoring them or looking like he'd rather be somewhere else, either. When they walk along the shore, when they sit side by side by side on a bench and watch the gentle lap of the water, they don't speak, they don't hold hands. But Jordan thinks maybe it's not totally crazy to think that they might, that they could.

On the way back Ryan sits in the middle seat in the back, and leans far enough forward that he can rest his forearms on the front seats, his hands brushing Taylor and Jordan's shoulders. Jordan shifts into the touch, and thinks he sees Taylor do the same.

Without discussing it, they drive back to their apartment.

 

-

 

Valentines Day is a strange affair for Taylor and Jordan this year.

It's officially their second year celebrating it together, but the first time around they hadn't done anything special. Well – they'd gone out for sushi and then came home and spent three days straight in bed, and that part was pretty fucking special, but they hadn't made big plans so Jordan figures they're not going to this year either.

Ryan calls him early that morning and asks if he wants to hit the mall. They've haven't had a game in three days and Ryan has spent them almost entirely with Jordan and Taylor, but he'd headed back to Jonesy's late last night and hearing his voice first thing in the morning and knowing he's a whole ten minutes away makes Jordan miss him anyway.

Jordan shakes Taylor awake and asks if it's okay if he hangs out with Ryan for a little while, or if Taylor wants them to spend the day together.

Taylor groans grumpily and tells Jordan to get out and never come back, so he figures Taylor probably wants to sleep for another few hours as is.

Jordan and Ryan wander around the mall for a few hours, not looking for anything in particular but ending up with new jeans and new shoes and more books than their shelves are equipped to deal with. Ryan looks like he's going to cry with joy when Jordan says he'll have to assemble some more.

They meet Taylor at the rink for morning skate, and Taylor shoves Pecks face first into his stall when he asks if Taylor minds that Jordan went on a Valentine's date with Ryan instead of him.

Taylor heads out straight after practice ends, not even saying goodbye to Jordan or Ryan, and Jordan wonders if he does mind that Jordan went to hang out with Ryan this morning. He asks Ryan if he thinks Taylor seemed off to him, and Ryan says maybe a little, maybe Jordan should go make sure everything's okay.

Jordan is nervous the whole drive home, even though he knows that he can't have fucked up too badly. He asked Taylor if he wanted to spend today together, and Taylor had said no, so even if he'd really meant 'yes' Jordan thinks he can be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Once it isn't anything more serious than that, he can make it up to Taylor, he's thinking as he opens the front door. Whatever's going on they'll be able to deal with it once this isn't about Ryan.

But when he gets inside, he stops in his tracks, train of thought totally forgotten.

Taylor is standing there waiting for him, wearing his nicest jeans and his blue plaid shirt, Jordan's favorite on him. There are huge bunches of white roses on every single surface that Jordan can see, and he knows now where his ipod went because his secret 'songs that make me feel sappy' playlist is playing in the background.

Taylor looks so nervous, like he doesn't know how Jordan's going to react, and that's the strangest thing about all of this, because Taylor knows Jordan better than Jordan knows himself, a lot of the time.

Jordan drops his bag and kicks the door shut behind him and grabs Taylor by the collar of his shirt, pushing him backward until his butt hits the back of the couch and he's a better height for Jordan to cup his face in his hands and kiss him. Taylor's hands go to Jordan's waist, clench in the material of his hoodie, and it's clingy in a way that Taylor rarely is, in ways that make Jordan's heart race.

“What's all this?” he asks, pulling only far enough away from Taylor to speak the words against his lips, his hands smoothing Taylor's shirt free of the wrinkles he's already wreaked on it.

Taylor blushes, and Jordan loves him so much he feels sick with it, too full of it, tiny in the face of the feeling.

“We didn't really do anything last year, and we haven't been spending a lot of time alone lately ...” he trails off, and Jordan freezes, pulls away so he can look at Taylor properly.

“Because of Ryan?” Jordan asks.

“Yeah,” Taylor says, letting his hands stray down into Jordan's back pockets and pulling him closer, not looking at him.

“I'm sorry, I guess. That's not what today is about, I did this because ... because I love you, and because I want you to know that. That nothing could ever change that,” Taylor says, and it takes Jordan way too long to figure it out. Taylor's apologizing to him as if it's on him that Ryan's around so much, as if Jordan doesn't want him there just as much.

Jordan kisses Taylor again, licks at the corner of his lips and gets Taylor's mouth wide open, kisses him deep and then teasing until Taylor is gasping and spreading his legs, trying to pull Jordan closer.

“I want him here too, Taylor,” Jordan says, and feels like he should add that he's sorry for that, sorry that it's probably not true, because it's more than that, has to be so much more than anyone else could ever want someone around, and more than Jordan has any right to.

“That doesn't change how I feel about you,” Jordan says, sliding his hands up into Taylor's hair and tilting his face so he can press a kiss to Taylor's cheek, drag his mouth down along the curve of his jaw and press their faces together, touching Taylor with every part of himself that fits in against him, wanting nothing between them, not now or ever.

Taylor's hands spread out across his back, holding Jordan close, and Jordan knows it's probably dumb, but he gets a little choked up. The only feeling bigger than his love for Taylor is knowing that Taylor feels like that for him.

“What's the plan here?” he asks after a moment, clearing his throat.

Taylor reaches for Jordan's hand and leads him to the dining room. The table is set, with really nice plates and cutlery that Jordan's never seen before. The bouquet of roses in the center of the table is huge, and Jordan can't believe Taylor remembered that he loves the smell of roses but doesn't like red ones. That's incredibly thoughtful, and Jordan can't believe Taylor did all of this. He also can't believe he has to sit through a meal before he gets to jump Taylor's bones. The hardship never ends.

But he looks around, looks between the dining room and the kitchen and sees that there isn't any food.

Taylor comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Jordan's waist, pulls him back against him until Jordan's ass is snug in the cradle of Taylor's hips, and presses a kiss up under Jordan's ear.

“Dinner's being delivered in a couple hours,” he says, and Jordan grins and fits his fingers between Taylor's on his hips.

“And until then?” Jordan asks, and Taylor huffs a little laugh against his neck. He pulls away and drags Jordan after him, leading him down the hall to Jordan's bedroom. When he pushes open the door the curtains have been drawn and the only light in the room is the glow of what seems like a million candles, carefully arranged on every surface around the room, laid out in clusters. Jordan's sheets have been changed, to the navy blue ones that Jordan always says makes Taylor's skin look like bronze. They've never really been big on romantic gestures, and Jordan hasn't minded, but this is gorgeous. This is overwhelming.

Jordan can't think of a single thing to say that would cover how he's feeling right now, so he doesn't bother trying.

He pushes Taylor down onto his bed and carefully works their clothes off, keeps his hands and mouth and mind on Taylor until they're both sweaty and panting, their fingers slipping and their skin slick and sticking.

When Taylor pushes inside him he's slower and more gentle than he's ever been able to be with Jordan, and Jordan feels it harder than anything, heavy in his heart and static all through him.

Jordan clings to him. He locks his knees against Taylor's sides and barely lets him move, keeps him still and deep for what feels like hours, staring up into his eyes. Taylor stares right back, his face all beautiful sharp angles, softened by the light and his expression of quiet, sure shocked awe.

“I love you,” Jordan says, and wishes that knowing that didn't feel like relief.

“I love you too,” Taylor replies immediately, stressing the 'you' in a strange way that makes Jordan's breath catch. He closes his eyes and lets himself think about it, goes there for just one second, and then he's right back here again.

He never really left.

 

-

 

A couple of days later, the Colorado Avalanche are due to come to town, bringing with them more to worry about than just a tough team to beat.

Ryan talks about Gabriel Landeskog sometimes, and Taylor and Jordan know they got friendly in the lead up to the draft, have stayed in touch ever since. But when they're eating dinner in Ryan's dining room one night and the topic comes up in conversation, Ryan admits it was more than that.

Taylor takes it a lot better than Jordan does.

“You mean you hooked up? With the Av rookie? Real original, Nuge,” he says, shaking his head.

Ryan shoots him a withering look.

“We weren't even rookies yet. Who else was going to sleep with us? Not that it – it wasn't just that,” he says, twisting up one side of his mouth and chewing on the inside of his lip, his go to expression for when something's a big deal and he's working hard to make it seem otherwise.

Jordan hasn't touched his food since Ryan brought it up. He wants to interject now, to point out that basically everyone who meets Ryan should and probably does want to sleep with him.

“Did you like ... date? Did you have feelings for him?” Jordan asks instead, and it's the first time he's really said anything about Ryan being into guys, because it's the first time he's had to.

“I guess,” Ryan says, frowning slightly.

“Not like -,” he shakes his head.

“It wasn't like with you two or anything. I mean - not the way you are together. With one another,” he clarifies in a rush, like he has to.

He's acting strangely, cagey and skittish and uncomfortable like he never is, here with them, and Jordan thinks he must have really liked Gabe a lot.

Jordan had hung out with Gabe a little during the All Star weekend, and he'd seemed like a good guy, but not the sort of person that Jordan would have pictured Ryan being interested in. Mostly because Jordan doesn't like to think about things that make him unhappy when there's nothing he can do about it.

“Are you still seeing him?” Taylor asks, and Jordan wants to say something like 'don't be dumb, of course he isn't', but he waits for Ryan to say it instead. He doesn't know why Taylor even asked. How could Ryan be seeing anyone when he's with them every minute of every day that isn't earmarked for hockey?

“Not really. We still hook up when we're in the same city or whatever, but it's just a one night thing,” Ryan says easily, and the mouthful of water Jordan just took swells to rocks on his tongue, sticking huge in his throat and falling heavy down through his stomach.

Taylor shoots him a look when he coughs, but covers for him anyway, flicking a pea at Ryan.

“So are you gonna hit that when he comes to town on Friday?” he asks, doing an admirable attempt at making it sound like he doesn't care – because why would he? - but Jordan sees Taylor's knuckles go white around his fork when Ryan looks at him, startled.

“No. Of course not,” Ryan says, like that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

“Why not?” Taylor asks, and he tilts his head and looks at Ryan from under his eyelashes in a way that generally has Jordan's hands mounting an assault on Taylor's underwear in a matter of seconds. Jordan doesn't know what the fuck he's playing at, why he'd mess with Ryan like that.

“Because – uh – well – I – have to ... concentrate on ... hockey?” Ryan says, and that definitely shouldn't be a question.

Taylor evidently thinks so too, because he snorts and says,

“Interesting,” in a way that clearly conveys exactly how much he doesn't believe Ryan.

He doesn't push it though, and Jordan doesn't know whether he's relieved to get out of the conversation alive or disappointed that Taylor didn't take it further.

Jordan thinks both Taylor and Ryan are being weird. Taylor's pretty competitive and endlessly loyal, he always takes competition seriously, takes it to heart off the ice. Maybe that's why he's acting so strangely. And Ryan has every reason to be, Jordan thinks. His sort of ex is coming to town and this could be the first time they're meeting like that. Jordan very purposefully does not think about what they met as before now, or what that extended to and entailed.

What's important is that this time is different.

(Jordan also doesn't think about how it might not always be. How some day Ryan will meet someone he won't be able to walk away from.)

 

-

 

Ryan's still injured, technically. His shoulder is more or less fine, but he's coming down with the flu now, too, and nobody wants to risk throwing him back out there before he's ready, if bringing him back when he isn't one hundred per cent could mean he ends up in the press box for the rest of the season.

It's not like it was when he first went on IR, thank god. He's bummed, but he knows it's smart to take the time to heal, especially this early in his career. He knows no-one blames him - that there's no-one _to be_ blamed, here.

He takes to hanging out at the apartment more than ever, and Jordan feels a little guilty for how happy that makes him - how much enjoyment he's getting out of somehow seeing Ryan more now that he can't play. They're not losing every game without him, and Sam's eight point game was a huge deal for the whole team, even if Jordan's four points had felt like nothing in comparison, less without Taylor _and_ Ryan out there to drag him into sweaty, delighted hugs.

But Ryan comes over every single morning and graciously allows Jordan to make him breakfast, and then he's waiting for them when they get back from practice, has food ready for them when they get back late after games. Saying goodbye to him three times a day would suck if they didn't get to come home to him when they're tired and aching and missing his face. Sometimes they can even convince him to stay over, and then they only have to leave him when they know they're coming right back in a couple hours. It's nice knowing that he's there waiting for them, having somehow found another thing to fix or repair or install, or best of all – when he's curled up on the couch asleep, and Jordan gets to wake him up, and gently scold Ryan about his shoulder until he pouts and sleepily glares at Jordan but shuffles off down the hall to Taylor's bed, anyway.

One afternoon he's so out of it that he crawls into Jordan's bed instead, and that's terrible and amazing. Jordan had been planning on napping himself, but he stops still in the doorway to his room when he sees Ryan curled up under the covers with one of Jordan's pillows in his arms. Jordan stands and lets himself look, lets himself imagine, until Taylor nearly bumps into him on his way to his own room.

“Ebs what are you – I thought you were napping?” Taylor doesn't nap as much as Jordan does, no-one does, so he was probably heading to his own room to grab his phone so he could call his mom and check in.

“I was gonna, but -” Jordan trails off and shrugs one shoulder in the direction of the bed.

Taylor peers over his shoulder into the dark room, pushes the door open a little wider and it's like Ryan senses them watching, because he twists around in the bed and turns over to face them, burrowing further into the covers and sighing softly.

“Oh,” Taylor says quietly. And then “So?”

“So I'll just go nap in your bed,” Jordan says, moving to push past Taylor, but Taylor stops him with an arm blocking his way.

“Dude you hate my bed. You can't sleep in it.”

“I'll nap on the couch, or something, whatever, move,” Jordan says, impatient. Not because his nap has been derailed, but because his plans to not ever have to look at Ryan sleeping shirtless in Jordan's bed have just died a fiery death. He doesn't even want to think about having to get into that bed with Taylor later, trying to fall asleep without thinking about it then, without wondering if he can still smell Ryan's body wash on the sheets, his shampoo on Jordan's pillow.

“Ebs, you get too hot on the couch and it wrecks your back. Stop being weird, just sleep with Ryan,” Taylor says, like he thinks he honestly has the right to sound so exasperated.

Jordan sways on his feet, so tired that his knees give out for a second.

“And that wouldn't be weird?” Jordan asks, “climbing into bed with him? He's going to wake up and be like 'what the fuck?'!”

“It's your bed, Jordan, it's just napping. Ryan basically sits on your lap when you're geeking out over your lame book club, so relax. It's a king. No-one's asking you to spoon the guy,” Taylor laughs, and that's true. It's also the problem, really.

The thing is, though, Taylor has unwittingly helped Jordan into a situation whereby he kind of _has_ to nap with Ryan. Where it seems like the rational, reasonable thing to do. Jordan is torn between falling to his knees in gratitude and crawling to the bed, and running screaming from the apartment and this option, this temptation.

Taylor's hand settles it. Not the shove he gives Jordan that sends him tumbling into the middle of his room, but the way his thumb rubs a soothing circle into Jordan's hip first, telling Jordan with his touch that this is okay.

Jordan carefully climbs into bed still wearing his sweats and a tshirt, and even with the warmth of Ryan already spreading through the sheets he's not too warm, his bare feet tucking themselves close to Ryan's before he even thinks about it. He lies on his back for a minute, staring at the ceiling and getting used to the weight of Ryan next to him, his heat and the way Jordan can smell his shampoo when he shifts closer into the middle of the bed, into Jordan.

Jordan turns onto his side, his back to Ryan, because that's all he can think of to make this easier, the only thing he can do besides getting out of bed, and he won't do that.

Just before he falls asleep, Ryan's arm gently circles his waist, and he thinks he hears Ryan whisper his name, but he's too tired to do more than simply say 'mm?' as he moves back into Ryan's warm hold and slips into dreams.

 

-

 

When Jordan wakes up he thinks he's still dreaming. This one is all too familar.

He and Ryan are facing one another now, curled together in the middle of the bed. One of his knees is pushed between Ryan's, and Ryan's arm is still around him, like Jordan turned toward him in his sleep and Ryan just went with it, left his arm exactly where it was except for how his hand is under Jordan's tshirt now, his palm warm against the dip of Jordan's spine. Jordan has his head pillowed on one hand, and Ryan is nuzzling in against the underside of his arm, his mouth pressed to Jordan's skin.

When he registers that – the soft heat of Ryan's lips brushing his bicep – he knows he isn't dreaming because his dreams aren't this good.

Jordan tries to pull away before Ryan wakes up, rolls back a little so he can bring his arm down into what space remains between their chests, but Ryan won't let go, his hand trying to pull Jordan back in against him. He's making this disgruntled little frowning face that Jordan would do anything to get to kiss, right now, but he needs to get out of here, he needs to get away from Ryan before he does. He reaches behind himself for Ryan's hand and tries to drag it out from under his shirt, but Ryan tangles their fingers together and holds on tighter, instead.

Jordan gives himself a minute of that, waits it out until he can't stand the ache anymore, and then he roughly pushes Ryan's arm off him, fights out from under the hold and sits up.

Ryan wakes up, startled.

“Wha – Ebs?” he asks, and Jordan closes his eyes against the sleep rough sound of his voice and the memory of waking up in his arms.

“Shh, napping,” Jordan says, lying back down and scooting to the edge of the bed.

He waits until Ryan falls back asleep before he closes his eyes again, thinking that he'll get up and leave the room the second Ryan is out. It's a long time before Ryan's breathing evens out again. By then, Jordan's slipping back into sleep himself.

 

-

 

When Jordan wakes up again, Ryan is already awake. He’s lying on his back on the other side of the bed, as far away from Jordan as he can be. Jordan is never happier or more content than when he’s just woken up from a nap, so he really can’t help how he wriggles closer to Ryan, brushes his nose in against the soft skin of Ryan's arm, the warm round of Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan goes stiff against him, flinches under the touch.

“Don’t,” Ryan says, and it’s a plea, not instruction.

Jordan jerks away, and he feels sick with guilt. The one thing he never wanted to do here was make Ryan feel uncomfortable. It’s no-one’s problem but Jordan’s, and he hates that he let it get this bad, that he let it make things weird.

“Sorry,” he says simply, because the best thing to do is forget this ever happened, move on so he can never let it happen again.

“Me too,” Ryan murmurs, and then he sighs and gets up and leaves the room, pulling on one of Jordan’s t-shirts as he goes.

Jordan doesn’t know what Ryan could possibly have to be sorry for.

 

-

 

Jordan scores a goal that night against Toronto, and as he skates back over to the bench he glances up in the direction of the press box. He keeps his head down as he fist bumps his teammates, and when Taylor punches him in the arm and he flushes hot for the contact with his bicep he wonders when he first started thinking of Ryan as more than just his teammate, more than just his friend.

 

-

 

Ryan disappears again, but only for a day this time. He doesn’t answer Jordan or Taylor’s calls or texts after practice, and they don’t have a game until the next day.

Jordan thinks he has well and truly ruined everything, and that night he drags Taylor down onto his bed and refuses to let go.

Three or four times during the night Taylor gently shakes him away, untangling Jordan’s arms from up around his neck or carefully shoving Jordan off him, sleepily complaining he can’t breath. But any time Jordan tries to move too far away Taylor reels him back in with a hand around his wrist.

 

-

 

The next morning when they wake up neither of them make a move to get out of bed, and they end up lying there, side by side, not moving or speaking until Jordan drops his hand palm up between them and Taylor takes the hint.

They lie in silence until the sound of the front door opening cuts through the dead air.

They turn to one another and Taylor’s gaze seems to search Jordan’s face for something, but Jordan waits and doesn’t react. They listen to Ryan take his shoes off and drop his keys on the counter, and then they listen to him quietly make coffee even though he doesn’t drink it.

Jordan doesn’t know what they’re waiting for, but when Ryan starts humming in the living room Taylor squeezes Jordan’s hand and gets up.

Jordan takes his time, goes to the bathroom and pees and brushes his teeth and changes into workout clothes before he pads out to the living room.

Taylor and Ryan are standing staring at what looks like a sheet of wooden venetian blinds. Taylor shakes his head and then throws his hands up in defeat, moving through to the kitchen to line up cereal boxes on the counter.

Ryan looks at Jordan and he doesn’t smile, but he does say,

“Hey, help me with this,” so Jordan sighs in relief anyway.

Taylor comes over and stands watching them, alternating between chewing his cereal obnoxiously loud and providing them with the least helpful and most irritating commentary he can think of.

Jordan ends up with two splinters, a stubbed toe and brand new blinds that he’s pretty sure they didn’t need, but Ryan kisses his thumb better after he calls Jordan a giant baby and then smiles and waves them off to practice, so Jordan thinks it was all much more than worth it, really.

 

-

 

They lose to the Colorado Avalanche and then they lose Ryan to Gabriel Landeskog and Jordan has to tell Taylor to order them dinner because if he goes into the kitchen tonight he’s not entirely confident he won’t smash every plate in there out of frustration.

Taylor is mad about the game, and Jordan is too, but the one thing he’d been able to console himself with was the thought of getting home and hanging out with Ryan, playing video games and getting so caught up in laughing at Taylor trying to teach Ryan how to chirp that he’d forget all about tonight and be able to start looking forward to the next game, their next day together.

But they’d come home to find the apartment empty and dark, a note from Ryan on the counter saying he’d gone to hang out with Gabe after the game, to ‘catch up’.

Taylor reads the note out loud to Jordan, and then crumples the page in his fist and fires it across the room, cursing under his breath about ‘fucking Colorado’ and ‘fucking ex-boyfriends’.

They both pick at their food when it arrives, and go to bed early, barely speaking to one another all evening but sticking close together, communicating through touches and commiserating looks instead of words that will just turn sharp and sour after a night like tonight.

Jordan falls asleep with his ears ringing with all the things he doesn’t say.

 

-

 

Ryan comes back the next morning wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the day before, and Jordan thinks he’s going to throw up all over the brand new Vans Jordan had helped him pick out.

“Did you stay with Gabe last night?” he asks, and he can’t make it sound like it’s not killing him to ask, and he can’t not ask. He’s supposed to be getting over this, putting it behind him and letting them all move on as normal, but it’s worse than ever and it’s not infatuation anymore, it’s not lust or anything like it, it’s this _knot_ of feelings and thoughts and hopes and wishes and regrets for things he hasn’t done yet, things he’ll never get to do.

Ryan looks at him, surprised by the question.

“Yeah, his road roomie stayed out so I stayed over,” Ryan says, shrugging. Like it’s nothing.

“Did you .. did he ..” Jordan can’t even say it.

“We stayed up late talking,” Ryan interrupts, explaining easily like he didn’t even realize what Jordan had been about to ask, like that question didn’t need to be asked.

“Just talking?” Taylor asks, from where he’s leaning against the counter with his hands in his pocket and a closed off, unreadable expression on his face.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, almost defensively, looking between Taylor and Jordan like he’s missing something, here.

“He’s a better man than me,” Taylor says half under his breath, and Jordan turns to look at him so fast he gets a little lightheaded.

Ryan ignores the comment, but blushes, and Taylor stares right back at Jordan, doesn’t so much as blink at the look of confusion Jordan is throwing him. It’s like he’s challenging Jordan to say something, and Jordan is so sick of everything that he takes this, he rises to the bait and takes a deep breath, ready to get this all sorted out once and for all.

“Ryan, Taylor and I need to talk,” Jordan says, and Ryan blushes a little harder, his face closing off and his expression turning hard, guarded. He nods and moves toward the door, and Jordan follows. Before he leaves Ryan turns to him and says “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for -” but Jordan cuts him off.

“It’s not you, Ryan, you didn’t do anything. Nothing’s wrong,” Jordan says, before he knows it’s true.  
“O-kay?” Ryan says, and then he bites his lip and looks at Jordan with wide, worried eyes and Jordan has to push him out the door before he pushes him up against it.

“We’ll call you later,” he assures Ryan, and then he closes the door and steels himself for what’s probably about to be the worst conversation he’s ever had to have.

 

-

 

“So you’re finally ready to acknowledge this, then?” Taylor asks as soon as Jordan comes back into the kitchen.

Jordan drags himself up onto one of the stools on the other side of the counter and sits with his head in his hands for a second, thinking. He isn’t ready. He doesn’t want to do this. He wants to never have to, but if he can’t get over it then all he can do is admit it and hope that that will change things, that Taylor will understand and they can somehow work through it together.

He’s so confused about all of this, but he’s sure of Taylor. He’s sure of how he feels about Taylor.

“I love you,” Jordan says, because that seems like an important place to start.

“Ditto,” Taylor says, reaching out to grab Jordan’s shoulder, digging his fingers in to make Jordan look at him. It’s probably best that he look at Taylor when he says this next part, anyway. Even if the last thing he wants to see is Taylor’s face when he does.

Jordan bites sharply at the inside of his lip, and then huffs out a breath and clears his throat.

“I think I love Ryan, too,” Jordan says, and stops breathing.

“Ditto,” Taylor says again, stressing it this time, and it sounds like ‘duh’.

Jordan doesn’t get it.

“Ditto? What? Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. You said you love me, and you love Ryan too. And then I said ‘ditto’, because I love you and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with our rookie house-husband too.” Taylor reels it off evenly and easily like it makes all the sense in the world.

Jordan needs a drink. He gets up and goes to the fridge and twists the cap off two beers and passes one to Taylor. They both drain about half their bottles in one swallow, and then Jordan clears his throat again.

“And this is … okay?” He hasn’t got a clue if it is. If it could be or can be. But he figures that whatever Taylor says will give him something to go on, a starting point at least.

Taylor ‘hmm’s and picks at the label on his bottle.

“It’s kind of weird, I guess. I don’t think there’s really anything we can do about it, though,” he says finally.

“How long have you known?” Jordan asks, only registering now that Taylor basically called him on this, knew not only that he had feelings for Ryan but that Jordan did too.

Taylor shrugs. “Since we started dating him without calling it that?”

Which - yeah, okay.

“And you knew I had feelings for him?”

“You look at him like you used to look at me,” Taylor says, and Jordan’s heart clenches painfully  
tight in his chest.

“I don’t love him more than I love you. He doesn’t change what we have, he doesn’t change us,” Jordan insists fiercely, and Taylor smiles.

“He kind of does. He makes us better. Don’t get me wrong, Ebby, I’d be happy to spend the whole rest of my life with you and you alone, but he … it feels like he’s supposed to be part of that. Sometimes it feels like he already is.”

“Fuck. What the fuck are we going to do?” Jordan asks, and Taylor puts his beer down and wraps his arms around Jordan.

“I have no idea,” he murmurs into Jordan’s hair.

They stand like that, wrapped up in one another and thinking about this, until Taylor drops his hips meaningfully into Jordan’s and says,

“Wanna go have sex and not feel guilty for wishing Ryan was here, too?”

And Jordan does. That’s something he hasn’t been able to do for a long time.

 

-

 

That evening Jordan has Taylor call Ryan and reassure him that everything is okay. He feels like a coward for not being able to do it himself, but he knows he can't even hear Ryan's voice right now and lie to him the way he would have to, to tell him that nothing's wrong.

 

-

 

Things are both worse and better now that everything’s out in the open.

Jordan is so relieved to know that this is their problem now instead of just his, instead of something he needed to hide and feel guilty for. They can talk about it now, and know that they each understand, that they’re in this together.

They lie awake at night talking about all of the times they’ve come close to saying something, all the times they thought they were going to fuck everything up by grabbing Ryan and kissing him, how they to this day don’t understand how they _haven’t_. It’s torture, but a good kind, if there is such a thing.

They talk about all the ways they want to end that Landeskog kid, and how they might deal if Ryan gets a boyfriend.

Taylor wants to talk to Ryan about it. He wants to bring their feelings for him up in conversation like … an option, like something Ryan has a choice in. Jordan says no. Even if Ryan felt that way about both of them - which, let’s face it, he doesn’t and wouldn’t - they can’t do that. They can’t make him feel like he has to be part of their relationship if he wants to stay part of their family. They’ve got to look out for him, in all things, and this is too much pressure. Maybe next year, Jordan says, maybe after he’s had a serious relationship and knows what he’d be signing up for.

“Do you think you could do that? See him with someone else?” Taylor asks quietly, and he isn’t being mean, he sounds honestly curious.

“No. I almost lost my lunch thinking about him just hooking up with Landeskog,” Jordan admits, but he won’t budge on this.

They can’t do that to Ryan.

 

-

 

The next time they see Ryan, he comes over to fix their refrigerator. Taylor had gotten slightly too enthusiastic with pushing Jordan up against it the other night when he was trying to make dinner, forgetting that Jordan might be smaller than him but he’s still a hockey player. So they’d knocked something out of place with the motor at the back, Jordan thinks, and neither of them have any clue how to fix that. They’re talking about calling someone who does in the locker room after morning skate when Ryan says “hey I can fix refrigerators.” Of course he can.

Jeff had driven him over to practice so he catches a ride back with them, pushing Taylor out of the way so he can sit up front with Jordan. Taylor lets him, stands with his hand on his stomach where Ryan shoved him for a second, and Jordan sends him a sympathetic grimace.

Even driving back to the apartment with Ryan is excruciating. He’s splayed out in the front seat in that totally loose, carefree way he only is with space when it’s Taylor's or Jordan’s. He cranes his head back over the edge of his seat to talk to Taylor and Jordan has to deal with the pale, perfect line of his throat and the way his Adam’s apple jumps when he laughs. Jordan’s hands are white knuckled around the steering wheel for pretty much the entire ride home.

When they get inside Ryan strips his hoodie off, tugging his t-shirt half up with it, and Jordan looks to Taylor helplessly, but Taylor looks as stressed out by all of this as Jordan is, which makes it worse, because Taylor doesn’t get stressed.

Ryan grabs Taylor by the arm, his long fingers biting into Taylor’s bicep, and tugs him over to the fridge, saying,

“C’mon, big boy, get to making yourself useful,” and ushering him to pull the fridge out so Ryan can check out the back of it.

 

-

 

Ryan spends the afternoon grinning at them from where he’s dropped to his knees on their kitchen floor, and Jordan and Taylor bodily run into one another twice in the space of an hour.

 

-

 

Then it’s like Ryan’s presence _expands_ in their life, literally and figuratively.

Jordan couldn’t honestly tell you the last time he went back to the Joneses, and they’ve been able to convince him to stay over so often that he’s started leaving his stuff everywhere. Piles of his clothes building up in Taylor’s room, his shampoo and shower gel somehow ending up in both of their bathrooms, crates of his favorite Gatorade stacked up next to theirs in the pantry, and his dvds appearing by the handful, gradually filling up the the bottom half of the second set of bookshelves he’d put together for them.

Without discussing it at all, Jordan and Taylor start adding Ryan’s favorite things to their grocery list, and after that the three of them go to the store together every week, taking it in turn to pay for what has become necessary to sustain a household of three.

Jordan and Taylor talk about it sometimes, what they’re doing here. Drawing so close to what they want, getting almost everything they need. They both know this is as good as it gets, and their acceptance of that makes Jordan think that this is okay, that they can have this because they’re not holding out for anything else.

Ryan certainly doesn’t make that easy, though.

 

-

 

One morning after breakfast Ryan heads out for an appointment with the team doctors, and Jordan cleans up the kitchen while Taylor showers.

Jordan is stretching up over the counter to put some glasses back on the top shelf when someone steps up behind him and slides their hands up under his shirt. Jordan gasps and nearly drops a glass in shock because -

“Hallsy, why do you smell like Ryan?”

Taylor shrugs and mumbles something about shower gel into the back of Jordan’s neck, and Jordan closes his eyes and grabs Taylor’s hands, lets himself pull him closer for one sharp second before he’s tugging Taylor’s hands off his waist and moving out from between him and the counter.

“Can you not do that right now?” Jordan asks, not looking at Taylor, not sure whether he’s pissed at himself or Taylor or Ryan or all of the above or none of the above at all.

Taylor pulls himself up to sit on the countertop and folds his arms over his bare chest, raising an eyebrow at Jordan when he’s finally able to look at him without his face getting flushed and embarrassed.

“You’ve got it so bad, man,” Taylor says, and fuck him.

“Fuck off, Taylor. Who nearly bolted off the couch the other night when Nuge sat next to him? Because it wasn’t me,” Jordan shoots back.

“Ryan isn’t even here,” Taylor says, “it’s just you and me, so stop being weird.”

“It’s never just you and me, Taylor,” Jordan sighs and Taylor snorts.

Then he reaches out and grabs a handful of Jordan’s t-shirt, hops down and backs Jordan up against the opposite counter. He curls his fingers into the waistband of Jordan’s sweats and pauses, but pulls them down to pool around Jordan’s feet when Jordan puts his hands back on the countertop and shifts his hips up into Taylor’s.

Taylor cups Jordan’s dick, half hard in his boxers, and says “This is just you and me.”

Jordan wants to disagree, frowns but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a move to stop Taylor when he starts to tug Jordan’s boxers down.

Taylor smiles when he gets a hand around Jordan’s cock, leans in and licks teasingly at Jordan’s mouth till Jordan is straining up to try and kiss him properly, getting impatient and lifting himself up onto the counter so he can pull Taylor in between his spread thighs and trap him there, make Taylor quit messing around and kiss him already.

Taylor does for a second, and then he pulls away and presses his mouth to the divot of Jordan’s collarbones, the beat of his pulse and the underside of his jaw.

He jacks Jordan’s dick, too dry but gentle, and says against Jordan’s ear,

“This is just you, wishing it was Ryan’s hand around you, Ryan’s _mouth_ maybe, and me wishing I could see that,” Taylor whispers low and rough, and Jordan swears.

“Fuck - Taylor - fucking, don’t,” he says, but he shudders and tries to pull Taylor closer, covers Taylor’s hand with his own so he can keep it curled low and tight around Jordan’s cock, so Taylor can feel how hard Jordan gets at the thought, at Taylor’s words.

Taylor laughs darkly, breathless against Jordan’s throat, and Jordan pushes him away so he can grab his hand and drag him to Jordan’s bedroom.

 

-

 

Taylor makes Jordan recite the things he’s thought about doing with Ryan.

He gets Jordan naked on his back in the middle of his bed, and drags his tongue wet and dripping up the length of Jordan’s dick, and says that his mouth waters when he’s around Ryan sometimes, when Ryan sprawls across their couch and Taylor wants nothing more than to get down on his knees and beg Ryan to fuck his mouth. Then he pushes a slick finger into Jordan, sinks his mouth down over his dick, and sucks tight and hot for one blissful moment before he pulls off and tells Jordan that it’s his turn, that he has to tell Taylor all the things he’s wanted, and if he stops, Taylor will stop.

It’s messed up. It’s weird and difficult and Jordan isn’t the most vocal in bed to begin with, but this is too much. Just the right amount of wrong to twist sharp in Jordan’s stomach, an aching pleasure.

Ryan will never know, Jordan thinks desperately. Ryan will never have to know that they did this - that they wanted to do this - and they’re doing nothing but telling the truth.

He lies back and breaks apart for Taylor’s mouth, for the things he’s saying and the way they make Taylor groan around his dick and twist his fingers deeper, searching.

 

-

 

When Taylor pushes Jordan’s knees to his chest and pushes in, he leans down and kisses Jordan like he’s trying to lick the words right out of his mouth. He breathes against Jordan’s cheek and says,

“I think about him all the time. When we do this -”, and drags Jordan’s hips down the bed, stays as deep as he can get, “and when we fall asleep. When we wake up in the morning and he’s not here. When we wake up in the morning and he _is_ here. All the time, no matter what,” he says in broken gasps, pressing his forehead down to Jordan’s and staring wide eyed and pleading at him, his hands tight around Jordan’s hips and his mouth bitten red and the expression on his face this lost, pained look that breaks Jordan’s heart a little bit even as it makes it kick hard and full in his chest.

Jordan pushes his fingers up into Taylor’s hair and kisses him softly, apologetically, and then he gently guides Taylor’s face to rest with his cheek over Jordan’s heart. After a moment Taylor shifts to take his weight on his hands in the sheets on either side of Jordan’s shoulders, but he pushes his forehead back to Jordan’s chest. His full lower lip catches against Jordan’s skin with every shuddering breath he takes as he fucks Jordan with a kind of determined, desperate force that leaves Jordan shaking.

Jordan arches against the sheets, writhes down against Taylor and begs when it gets to be too much, but he doesn’t say anything else about Ryan.

He doesn’t have to.

They’re both thinking it.

 

-

 

When Ryan comes home neither of them can look at him. He brought them lunch, and Jordan takes a second to feel even sorrier for himself than he already did, because Ryan is so good to them, so good _for_ them. Jordan is happy to be able to give Ryan what he wants - friendship and a place in their lives, a part in everything they do - but he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop wanting more, wishing Ryan wanted the same.

 

-

 

That afternoon Jordan is sitting on this dumb giant beanbag that Taylor brought him and is irritatingly the most comfortable thing in the world to sit in, reading, when Ryan switches the tv off and crawls over to him, actually drops to his hands and knees off the couch and crawls across the living room floor toward Jordan. When he reaches him he doesn’t say anything, sits with his butt on the ground and his long legs stretched out in front of him, but he burrows one arm under Jordan’s waist and kind of hugs his side, lifts Jordan’s arm so he can duck underneath it and rest his head on Jordan’s stomach. Jordan bites his lip so hard he tastes the tang of blood, and reads the same page six times before he gives up.

“Ryan -” he begins, but he has no idea how he’s going to finish that sentence.

“Sshhh, napping,” Ryan says, burrowing closer, his breath warm through Jordan’s shirt.

“'kay,” Jordan whispers, and switches his book to his other hand so he can put his hand on Ryan’s back, his thumb slipping down under his collar and brushing back and forth across the soft skin between Ryan’s shoulders.

“Have good dreams,” he whispers, and feels it rather than sees it when Ryan smiles.

 

-

 

Then Ryan goes and gets even sicker. He’s still coming off the tail end of the flu that’s been keeping him out even though his shoulder is totally healed, but the doctors say that he has a viral infection now, and there’s nothing he can do but wait it out and stay hydrated.

He tells Taylor and Jordan this via text messages that they combine and decipher after practice, figuring out from Ryan’s ‘I’m fine,’ and ‘It’s not so bad,’ that it must be pretty awful, because ‘It’s not so bad’ is about as dramatic as Ryan gets. When he’d first hurt his shoulder he’d said ‘It’s nothing, it doesn’t hurt at all’, so any admission of actual discomfort is an instant red flag.

Jordan texts Ryan back to say that they’ll be right home, and rolls his eyes hard enough to hurt when he gets a message that says “I’m back at Jonesy’s, I’m just gonna hole up and try not to get anyone else sick.’ It’s totally typical of Ryan to be worried about everyone else, but it’s also not happening. Jordan knows Ryan won’t let Jamie take care of him, and it’s not like Jonesy or Jeff will even try.

“Ryan’s back at the Joneses, he said -” Jordan starts to explain, but Taylor’s pulling a u-turn before Jordan even finishes his sentence.

 

-

 

When they get over there Jamie grins and hugs them hello and waves them off up the stairs to Ryan’s room.

All the windows are thrown open, and Ryan is lying on his bathroom floor in nothing but his boxers. His eyes are closed and Jordan thinks he’s asleep at first, but he opens his eyes and whimpers at them when they come in, and Jordan’s chest gets tight.

“What are you doing here?” Ryan asks, and he looks _and_ sounds terrible. He’s paler than ever, and sweating and shivering at the same time. He looks totally miserable and Jordan wants to make it go away, wants to make it all better.

Taylor crouches down next to him and puts a hand on his forehead and ignores Ryan’s question to ask one of his own.

“Why are you lying on the floor, babe?” he asks, and Jordan’s too worried to kick Taylor for being so obvious.

Ryan tilts his head back against the tile, swallowing with what looks like considerable effort and closing his eyes again.

“‘s cold,” he says, managing a small smile for Jordan when he picks up the bottle of water lying next to Ryan and helps him take a few sips.

“On a scale of one to ten how sick are you right now?” Jordan asks, and Ryan frowns and squints at him.

“A four?”

Which means an eight. _Fuck_.

“Okay, do you think you can move? How do you feel about getting dressed and coming home? We can hang out here and watch you, but we probably can’t stay the night,” ‘and we’re absolutely not leaving you alone until you’re better,’ Jordan doesn’t add. But he thinks it’s pretty obvious.

“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to-” Ryan starts to argue, but Taylor puts a finger over his lips and Ryan doesn’t even try to bite him, so this is definitely bad.

“Ryan, can you last five minutes in the car wearing clothes or not? A yes or a no, no arguments,” Taylor says, and even Jordan can’t argue with him when he speaks to him like he’s a goal post that Taylor’s about to take out, so Ryan doesn’t stand a chance.

“Yes,” Ryan says, enunciating every letter in this petulant little tone that somehow makes Jordan love him even more.

So that’s decided then. Ryan’s coming home, where he belongs.

 

-

 

They help him into the lightest pair of sweats they can find, and a thin hoodie that Taylor only zips up far enough to make Ryan look almost decent. He’s still burning up, and he must feel like shit, but he’s okay to walk down the stairs and out to the car, he doesn’t reach for Jordan or Taylor so Jordan feels marginally better about the situation.

Taylor fusses over Ryan in the backseat, making him lie down with his head in Taylor’s lap with a washcloth they grabbed from the bathroom and soaked with water pressed to his forehead and dripping in ice cold rivulets down his neck.

Jordan leaves them like that, Ryan alternating between grumbling pathetically at Taylor for fussing and thanking him for just that.

He runs back up the steps and goes to find Jamie in the kitchen. She’s setting out lunch for three, and Jeff and Jonesy should be home any moment now.

“Taking him home?” she asks, and Jordan’s heart stops.

“Hey, hey, relax,” she says, looking at him in alarm.

“It’s not - we wouldn’t -” Jordan starts to try to explain, but she cuts him off with a laugh and a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re good guys. I’m not worried,” she says, smiling as she ladles soup out into bowls.

“You don’t … think it’s weird?” Jordan asks, and he doesn’t know what he wants to hear Jamie say. It is weird, and people should think so, he thinks. But that doesn’t mean he wants them to.

“Honey, weird doesn’t mean bad. I don’t know what the deal with the three of you is, and I don’t particularly want to either, but he’s … I trust you not to hurt him,” she says, and Jordan’s heart sinks.  
“We wouldn’t,” he says again, solemn and sure.

“I know that. Everyone does,” she tells him and it makes him feel worse.

“Now get out of here,” she says, shooing him out of the kitchen, “go take care of your boys.”

 

-

 

Jordan will pencil in a time to worry about how “everyone” “knows” things about Jordan and Ryan and Taylor when Jordan himself still doesn’t know for sure what they’re doing here.

Once he’s finished playing nursemaid he will absolutely make time to lose his mind about that.

 

-

 

They work pretty damn hard to try and make Ryan get into their bed, but he’s not having it. He says he’ll walk back to the Joneses if they don’t let him sleep in Taylor’s room, and goes so far as to put his flip flops back on and stand up to head for the door. But then he gets light-headed and Jordan makes Taylor sit with him while he goes to grab every bottle of Gatorade they have in the pantry.

Eventually Taylor tells both Jordan and Ryan to shut up, and goes and drags the mattress from his bed into the living room. He pushes the coffee table out of the way and sets the mattress up inside the ‘v’ of the couch. He piles it high with pillows and drags the coffee table back over so it’s at the bottom of the makeshift bed, fully stocked with water and Gatorade and juice and a bowl full of iced water and a stack of washcloths. He goes and turns the thermostat down and then comes back and stands in front of Ryan and Jordan, who have been silently watching everything he’s doing.

Taylor shrugs.

“This way you’re where we can keep an eye on you. It’s cooler in here and closer to the big bathroom if you need to hang out on the tile some more.”

Jordan grins at him, and Ryan goes to lie down in his new quarters. He looks about as happy as he can be, all things considered.

 

-

 

So Ryan spends the rest of the day lying mostly naked in their living room, but every time Jordan looks at him all he can think about is checking to see how much he’s sweating now, whether his forehead is creased up in discomfort, when the last time he had something to drink was, whether his temperature has gone up or down since Jordan last took it.

Ryan keeps down the soup that Jordan makes him, and he naps on and off all day, twisting and kicking and not lying still until Taylor moves off the couch to sit on the floor next to the mattress leaning back against Jordan’s legs. He reaches out and puts one hand on Ryan’s shoulder, smooths his palm up along Ryan’s neck until Ryan turns over in his sleep and presses his cheek into Taylor’s hand, finally goes still and rests.

 

-

 

They wake him up for more soup at dinner time, but he sleeps through most of the evening. His fever seems to be gone now, his temperature has been normal for hours and he has some color back in his face. He’s simply exhausted, now.

Around eleven Taylor goes to shower and get ready for bed and Jordan sits and watches Ryan sleep until he hears the water shut off. Then he gets up and quietly moves through the living room, turning off the tv and switching off the lights.

He comes back to kneel by Ryan’s side when he’s done, and makes sure he has water within his reach in case he wakes up. Ryan is shivering now, so Jordan grabs the blanket he’s half lying on and tugs it up over his shoulders, covering him just enough that he can easily push it off if he gets too hot again. Jordan leans in and presses a quick kiss to Ryan’s forehead, but when he starts to pull away Ryan’s hand comes up to clutch his shoulder and he sees that Ryan’s eyes are open now, he’s awake and staring up at Jordan. When Jordan tries to move away again Ryan’s hand pulls him in instead, and because of how he’s leaning over Ryan the force sends him almost sprawling across Ryan until Jordan catches himself with his hands on either side of Ryan’s head and his face about an inch from Ryan’s.

Jordan doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t breathe.

Ryan pulls him down again, and lifts his head from the pillow to kiss Jordan, to bring their mouths together in a closed-mouthed, careful lock of their lips that makes Jordan’s brain short circuit. This is probably the only time he’s ever been around Ryan and not been thinking about kissing him, and this is when it happens. Maybe he’s been going about this all wrong.

As quickly as it starts, it stops, and Ryan drops his head back into the pillows. He reaches out to drag his thumb up across Jordan’s mouth, and Jordan doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he presses a kiss to the pad of Ryan’s thumb and Ryan smiles and closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

 

-

 

Taylor is already in bed when Jordan reaches his room.

Jordan strips down to his boxers and turns out the light and climbs in next to Taylor. Taylor wraps his arms around Jordan and Jordan has to say it, he has to tell someone. Taylor, specifically.

“Don’t freak out, but Ryan just kissed me.”

“He did not,” Taylor murmurs sleepily against the back of Jordan’s neck.

“He did too!”

“You wish.”

“Well, obviously, but he did. I swear to god, Taylor, he just kissed me!”

Taylor shifts up onto one elbow to peer down at Jordan in the dark.

“Seriously?”

“Yes! Why would I make that up. I was like … tucking him in and making sure he had everything he needed and I thought he was asleep but then he grabbed me and kissed me. And then went right back to sleep.”

“Huh,” is all Taylor can say.

“With tongue?”

“No,” Jordan says, and sees his own disappointment on Taylor’s face.

Taylor shrugs and lies back down.

“Cool, we don’t need you getting sick too,” he says, tucking his face back in against Jordan’s shoulder and drifting off.

Because apparently Jordan is the only resident of this apartment who can’t sleep through a crisis. Figures.

 

-

 

The next morning Jordan and Taylor don’t say anything about the kiss. They don’t say anything at all. They smile sleepy ‘good morning’ smiles at one another and start the day off right by making out lazily against the sink in Jordan’s bathroom. Taylor is reaching for him as soon as they’ve rinsed their toothbrushes and put them back in the cup, and Jordan lets him drag him in, says with his tongue what they can’t say out loud.

They get dressed as quietly as they can, not wanting to wake Ryan if he’s still asleep, and they hold hands as they head to the kitchen to wake him and make breakfast.

Taylor drops Jordan’s hand when they get to the living room, and turns around and goes to check his bedroom. Jordan’s still standing looking at the neatly made bed and the pile of blankets on top of it, Taylor’s hoodie that Ryan had been wearing folded carefully on top of those, when Taylor comes back.

He shakes his head.

Ryan’s gone.

 

-

 

Jordan would tell Ryan that it doesn’t matter.

He’d tell him that they can forget about it, that it’s already forgotten about, that it never really happened.

He’d tell him anything he needed to hear if Ryan would answer their calls or texts.

 

-

 

Taylor says Ryan is just embarrassed. That he did something he shouldn’t have when he was sick and not thinking straight, and now he thinks that Jordan and Taylor think differently of him, maybe even think less of him.

That’s Taylor’s take on it.

Jordan wants to disagree. He wants to say that kissing Jordan isn’t something Ryan shouldn’t have done. He wants to think Ryan was thinking straight. He wants to protest that Ryan knows there’s nothing he could do that would change how they feel about him. He wants to know that that’s true.

He says nothing and keeps thumbing ‘redial’ instead.

 

-

 

Ryan can’t hide forever. They play hockey together every day, and the very next day Ryan is due back at practice.

He’s already there by the time Taylor and Jordan arrive, and he doesn’t look at them when they come in. Halfway through pulling on their gear Taylor shakes his head and stands up and starts to cross the room, but Jordan grabs him and pulls him back down, rubs his thumb up over the pulse point in Taylor’s wrist and asks him to help tighten the laces on his skates.

 

-

 

Practice sucks. Ryan doesn’t speak to them, barely looks at them, and not even their passes translate, pucks overshot and sent wide and falling short, lost in the disconnect between them.

 

-

 

Jordan doesn’t want to leave it like this, he doesn’t want to walk out of the locker room without saying something, without _doing_ something. He’s made his mind up to go out there and make Ryan talk to him or look at him at least when Jonesy corners him outside the showers.

“Leave it, Ebs,” he says, and he sounds tired and somehow sorry.

“Jonesy -”

“No. Okay? No. I don’t know what the fuck is going on right now and I don’t care. But Jamie says everything is going to be alright, and she says Ryan needs a minute, so those are two things that are going to happen, okay? You got that?” he asks, except he isn’t really asking at all and Jordan knows that. He respects it. Jonesy is looking out for Ryan and that’s nothing Jordan doesn’t do every single day.

“Yeah. I’ve got it,” Jordan says, and when he gets back out there Jeff is walking away from Taylor and Taylor’s jaw is clenched so tight his mouth is quivering.

Jordan looks across the room for Ryan, but all he can see is glimpses of his hands and the slow, careful way he slips his shoes on and stands up like he’s unsteady on his feet. Jeff and Jonesy are giving him the kind of screen that Dubes would knock them flat on their asses for.

It almost makes Jordan smile.

 

-

 

That night Jordan scores a goal and Sam scores two, and they beat Calgary 6 - 1.

It’s Ryan’s first game back, and he isn’t there. He doesn’t make any mistakes, no obvious turnovers or times when he isn’t where he’s supposed to be, but he doesn’t appear through traffic to get to them, either. He doesn’t open up lanes that no-one else on the ice could see and find ways to make passes that shouldn’t find them. He’s everywhere he needs to be and that’s all, nothing more.  
He does his job and no-one could fault him for his effort.

But he’s found a way to hide from them even when they’re on the ice together, and Jordan feels like he spends the whole night on a breakaway that will never end, skating toward an open net that gets further and further away the harder he skates to reach it.

 

-

 

When Taylor and Jordan get home they don’t bother to turn on the tv. They heat up their meals and take them into the dining room and sit across the table from one another and don’t pick up their forks, don’t move at all.

“He hugged you when you scored,” Taylor says finally, starting to pick at his food as he pokes at the problem.

Jordan thinks about it.

“It was like he was hugging a leper,” he says, and it’s true. Ryan hadn’t even hugged him. He’d let Jordan hug him, and even through the layers of pads and jerseys and under armor he could feel how Ryan was shying away from it, pulling out of the contact as soon as he allowed it.

Jordan pushes his plate away.

“Taylor, did we do this?”

“What do you mean?” Taylor looks up, frowning, and tries to push Jordan’s plate back in front of him, “he kissed you, remember?”

“Yeah but what if he did that because he thought he had to. Because we made him feel like we were taking care of him because …” it makes Jordan feel sick to say it, but “because we wanted something from him. He does everything for us, Taylor. What do we do for him?”

Taylor sighs.

“Everything he asks of us, Ebs. And plenty of things he doesn’t, because we know he’d never ask. You get that he moved in with us, right? You noticed that? He takes care of us. But we take care of him. Maybe he got scared. You know what he’s like when he gets what he wants, what he deserves.”  
‘Scared’ is an accurate description of it, Jordan thinks. And that’s only when he lets himself realize that he has those things. Even after the team had announced that he was staying up, he’d been convinced for weeks after that they’d change their mind, that there was something he could do or fail to do that could get it taken away.

“But if he was scared to lose us then why did he kiss me? Why would he do that if he thought it was going to fuck things up that much sooner?”

Taylor puts his fork down and sits back in his chair.

“Maybe he wanted to test it. Maybe he pushed to see how much we could take. How much _he_ could take. Or maybe …” he trails off. “Maybe he wanted to try and end this before it could get taken away,” Taylor says, the words falling out of his mouth in broken, cracked pieces.

“But we didn’t let him,” Jordan says in a rush, fighting the aching pressure of his breath, huge and too much in his lungs, to get it out. “We fought for him, Taylor, we didn’t let him leave, we won’t ever let that happen.”

“I know that,” Taylor says, “but now we’ve got to make sure that Ryan knows that, too.”

 

-

 

They both text him before they go to bed that night. They don’t say anything about what happened, they don’t yell at him to come home. They tell him that they miss him, and that they’re glad he’s back playing again, proud of him for everything he does.

Taylor sleeps in one of Ryan’s t-shirts. It’s way too small on him and he must have pulled it from the laundry because it still smells like Ryan. Jordan doesn’t call him on it.

Instead, he tangles his fingers in the front of it, and falls asleep.

 

-

 

The next day at morning skate Ryan passes Taylor a bottle of Gatorade and Jordan nearly falls flat on his face craning around Horcs to see.

 

-

 

Ryan’s truck is parked downstairs when they get back to the apartment, and Taylor tries to trip Jordan when they race up the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

They should have, though, because when they let themselves in he’s already gone. They get to the window just in time to see him driving away.

There’s a new coffee carafe on the counter. Last week Taylor and Ryan had been roughhousing in the kitchen while Jordan tried to make breakfast, and he’d ended up dropping and smashing the one they’d had.

Jordan opens the box and rinses the pot and puts it in the coffee maker. Then he stands and looks at it, and starts to wonder if they’ve got space for one of those espresso machines instead. Ryan doesn’t drink coffee, but sometimes a cup of hot milk helps him sleep, and a steam wand would make it better than the microwave does, Jordan is sure.

 

-

 

The next day Sam asks why Taylor hadn’t been on Xbox live at all the day before. Taylor explains that something’s up with the wireless, that they’ve got signal but can’t get the console to recognize it, and Sam says he needs to get on fixing that so he can continue to whip Taylor’s butt at Mario Kart. Taylor tells Sam to learn how to play a real game, and that’s the end of that conversation.

 

-

 

They’ve got a game that night against the Flyers, and Jordan is very much looking forward to his pre-game nap this afternoon, but the second he lies down he hears the front door open.

“Taylor? Did you forget something?” he calls, because Hallsy had left to go to the store like five minutes ago.

There’s no reply, and Jordan starts to untangle himself from the blankets to go see what’s wrong, but Ryan appears in the doorway to his bedroom as soon as he sits up.

“Hey,” Jordan says, surprised but trying not to sound it.

“I just came to look at the Xbox, I hope that’s okay,” Ryan says, standing there with his hands in his pockets looking out of place, uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to do that. But you don’t have to ask, either, Ryan. This … this is your home, if you want it to be. However you want it to be.”

Ryan actually staggers a little. Reels backwards and catches himself with a hand on the door frame, and then finally looks at Jordan, really looks at him for the first time in days.

“Jordan - I -” but he can’t finish the sentence.

Jordan is tired, exhausted in more ways than he can count, and almost faint with relief. He doesn’t know when he’s going to get a chance to say these things to Ryan again, if he ever will, so here and now is the time to make it clear, he thinks.

“You don’t have to say anything, Ryan. Not until you’re ready, or if you need to. Whatever you want is what we want, so … do whatever you need to do. Be here all the time, or go back to Jonesy’s if that’s what you need right now. We want you here, but only if that’s okay with you. So … whatever you want, Ryan, it’s yours, okay? And you can say no, and you can move out, but you can’t stop us wanting you to stay.”

After a long moment Ryan nods. He takes a deep breath, and then he nods again.

“Go to sleep, Ebs. I’m gonna go fix the Xbox,” is all he says, but at least it’s not ‘no’. Not yet.

Jordan lies awake and listens to Ryan move around in the living room. He wishes Taylor were here. He wishes Ryan wouldn’t leave.

 

-

 

Ryan doesn’t stay, but he was here for a while, and that’s enough for now. That’s enough to make Jordan believe that he’s not gone for good.

 

-

 

Jordan scores again that night against the Flyers, and Ryan hugs him this time. He doesn’t pull away so fast. He reaches up to tap Jordan’s helmet and holds on even tighter, and Jordan feels like he scored a hat trick.

 

-

 

Taylor adds a power play goal five minutes later and Jordan laughs and shakes his head at him, but Taylor just grins at him over Ryan’s shoulder, waggles his eyebrows and reaches to pull Jordan into the hug. It was a sweet goal, but it’s a sweeter celebration.

 

-

 

Ryan doesn’t come home that night, but when he’s leaving the arena he pauses in the hallway and looks back at them over his shoulder before he hurries off to catch up with Jeff, and Jordan thinks it’s probably only a matter of time.

It better be.

 

-

 

The next morning Jordan wakes up to the smell of burning plastic.

He stumbles out to the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, and finds Taylor sitting on the kitchen counter next to their smoking toaster, grinning.

“What did you do?” Jordan sighs.

“Well Jordan, I’m glad you asked. I was minding my own business, toasting a bagel, when one half got stuck. I tried to get it with a fork, but I had to use a plastic one, because a metal one would have shocked me, duh. But I accidentally dropped the fork, and I think it melted inside our toaster. I don’t know how to fix that. Do you?” he asks, wide-eyed.

“You’re not smart, and you’re not cute,” Jordan says, and means it. But then Taylor pouts. “Okay you’re sorta cute. It’s obvious what you’re doing, though.”

“Sshhh,” Taylor says, pulling Jordan into a hug as soon as gets within range, and resting his head on top of Jordan’s.

“Don’t say anything. Just stand here with me and enjoy knowing that Ryan is already on his way over. You’re very welcome, Jordan Eberle. And very lucky to have such a quick thinking, great looking boyfriend.”

 

-

 

Ryan arrives ten minutes later, and he’s looking between Taylor and the toaster and shaking his head when Jordan comes back into the kitchen, fussing with the hem of his t-shirt. It’s his lucky grey one. Just in case.

“Hey,” he says, far more softly than he intended to, but it makes Ryan smile.

“Hey yourself,” Ryan says, and Jordan wants to kiss him. Again. He can’t believe he gets to say ‘again’.

Ryan doesn’t look away until Taylor grabs him by the hand and bodily hauls him away to fix their stupid toaster that Taylor was stupid enough to break on purpose to get Ryan over here, and Jordan thinks Ryan has to know that, but he’s here anyway. He’s standing in their kitchen, bickering with Taylor about why he didn’t think to use the little wooden tongs that Ryan got him specifically for these toaster rescue missions. He’s laughing at Taylor’s ridiculous excuses, his eyes wide and soft and fond even when he’s calling Taylor none too kind names, and there’s no ‘maybe’ anymore, no ‘might be’.

Jordan’s in love with them.

 

-

 

Ryan takes their toaster apart and carefully scrapes the melted plastic out of the workings once everything has cooled down.

They manage to convince him to stay for lunch, and Jordan smiles to himself as he puts a quick meal together and absolutely doesn’t lift his t-shirt to his face and kiss the hem of it in thanks, no way.

They sit and watch tv and Jordan doesn’t know what’s on because he’s too busy choking on his salad wrap when Ryan hooks his foot in under Jordan’s ankle and trying to remember how to digest when Ryan doesn’t move it away again.

Ryan leaves at dinner time to head back to the Joneses but he hugs them both goodbye and says “I’ll be back soon.” He doesn’t mean today, but he means it and that’s what matters.

 

-

 

The Coyotes are in town the next night, and they beat the Oilers 3 - 1. Their lone goal is scored by Ryan, who throws an arm around Taylor and Jordan as soon as they reach him. So they lose and it sucks, but it’s not the worst night Jordan’s ever had.

 

-

 

They have to fly out right after the game because they’re playing in Winnipeg the next day. Taylor grabs the window seat like always. Jordan stows their stuff in the overhead bin but before he can take his seat next to Taylor Ryan beats him to it. He grabs Jordan by the hips and slips between him and the seat in front of them, taking the seat next to Taylor like it was his all along.

“Too slow, loser,” Ryan says, because Taylor encourages him to practice his chirping on them. Of course Jordan was too slow. Ryan had his hands on his hips. What was he supposed to do? Move? Think? Not likely. 

There are three seats, so Jordan could sit next to Ryan, but would that be weird?

Ryan rolls his eyes and tugs Jordan down beside him before Jordan can figure it out.

Taylor leans around Ryan and beams at him, and Jordan makes a pretty impressive effort to stay straight faced, but Ryan puts an end to that when he pokes Jordan in the cheek until he smiles.

And then scowls, when Ryan starts humming that dumb Taylor Swift song about gap teeth, and Taylor - the traitor - joins in on the chorus, tapping out a beat on the seat in front of them.

Whits’ head appears over the seat and he closes his eyes and groans.

“Horcs, the kids are sitting _three_ to a seat now. If they fuse into one person does that free up roster spots?”

Horcs shouts something back about ‘too many men’ penalties and no-one else on the team every getting credited with an assist ever again, but Jordan’s too busy being happy to really listen.

 

-

 

Five minutes after they get to their hotel Ryan is knocking on the door, and Jordan kind of wants to hide his face in his pillows, because he can’t make it stop smiling and he must look like a total tool.

They don’t do anything, just hang out and talk for like an hour before Ryan can’t finish entire sentences without yawning. It’s kind of a perfect night.

And then Ryan makes it better.

“Can I sleep here?” he asks, and Jordan thinks he must have misheard him.

“Huh?”

Ryan’s tugging the comforter down off the bed that should be Jordan’s, rearranging the pillows. Jordan’s already in the other bed, the one he’ll share with Taylor, which,

“You’re too tired to want to fool around, right?” Ryan goes on, and Jordan thinks he must have fallen and hit his head without noticing. “Because if not then just say the word and I’m gone, but if we’re all just sleeping then what’s the point in me going back to my room when you’re just gonna be waking me up to come watch cartoons with you way too early tomorrow, anyway?”

He has to be concussed. That’s the only reasonable explanation for how Jordan doesn’t remember falling down and hitting his head _repeatedly_.

Taylor comes back from the bathroom before Jordan can say anything, and saves him the trouble. He looks at Ryan, halfway to climbing into bed, and says,

“Cool, sleepover,” like there’s nothing at all strange or new about this turn of events.

He climbs into bed behind Jordan, and Ryan pulls the covers up over himself in the other bed. Ryan yawns again and says ‘’Night,’ and reaches to switch off the lamp. Taylor says it back, wraps an arm Jordan’s waist and goes to sleep.

Jordan lies awake, looks at Ryan’s face turned toward them, half shadowed in the dark.

He settles back into Taylor’s arms and thinks it’s probably going to take a while to fall asleep tonight.

 

-

 

It’s even better when he wakes up.

The first thing Jordan sees when he opens his eyes is Ryan. Shirtless, and blinking sleepily with this soft, easy smile on his face that grows when he sees that Jordan’s awake.

“Morning,” he says, and Jordan wants to be able to say goodnight to Ryan every single night, and know that he’ll still be there the next morning. He wants to slide out of bed and go to his knees next to Ryan’s bed, to take Ryan’s face in his hands and kiss him good morning instead of saying it. And then he wants to say it anyway, just because he can.

“G’morning,” Taylor answers for him, leaning up on both elbows to smile at Ryan and then press a kiss to Jordan’s jaw. Jordan’s still watching Ryan, and he almost thinks he sees something flash across Ryan’s face when Taylor kisses him, something like the pained want Jordan feels every second he has to look at Ryan and know he can’t have him. Jordan knows he didn’t see that, but he lets himself think it, for a second.

They get up and shower and get dressed, moving easily around one another in the small space, directing one another with Jordan’s hand on Ryan’s back or Ryan touching Taylor’s face with gentle fingers, tilting his jaw and pointing out the spots he’s missed shaving.

It feels domestic, even though they’re not at home. It feels like maybe ‘home’ isn’t just a place anymore.

 

-

 

They beat the Jets 5 - 3, Jordan and Taylor score goals and Ryan gets a helper on Whits’ tally.

There’s this moment in the middle of the third period when Jordan’s sitting on the bench flanked by his guys, and he realizes that this is how he feels when they’re together, whether they’re on the bench or on the ice or out at dinner or laying around playing video games. He feels like he doesn’t have to glance left or right to know that they’re there, doesn’t have to check on them or pause to wonder if they have his back. With them by his side, Jordan feels like they’re part of him, _his_ in ways he can’t even begin to explain, because it’s too huge. Too much.

It’s kind of scary. But only in the way that jumping out of a plane when you’ve got a parachute securely fastened to your back must be. It’s exhilarating.

The longer it goes on the harder it is for Jordan to convince himself that it’s something he’ll never get a shot at.

The more time they spend with Ryan and the more times they win him back the closer Jordan gets to feeling like all he has to do is reach out and touch, that if he does he’ll find that it’s right there and real and his, already _theirs_ for the taking.

 

-

 

When they get back Ryan disappears again, just walks out the front door when Taylor and Jordan are in Jordan’s room unpacking.

Jordan calls out to him and then comes out to find an empty living room when he doesn’t get an answer, and he’s torn between throwing his phone at a wall and throwing it at Hallsy, who is trying to convince Jordan not to call Ryan, when Ryan walks back through the front door.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and Jordan somehow deflates and gets angrier at the same time.

“Where did you _go_?” he demands, and Ryan has the sense to look sheepish, at least. He gestures at the duffel bag at his feet.

“I went to go grab the last of my stuff from Jonesy’s,” he says, and oh.

“Oh,” Jordan says.

“Is that cool?” Ryan asks, uncertain, and Jordan’s frustration returns, but just for a second.

“Still with asking that question? Seriously? It’s fine. It’s great. Now get over here,” Jordan says, beyond patience or control or reason right now.

When Ryan crosses the room Jordan yanks him into a hug and doesn’t make himself let go for for what has to be a full minute, because Ryan’s here and he’s staying and if that’s not reason to celebrate by giving into his every instinct for sixty seconds then Jordan doesn’t know what is. Well. Not _every_ instinct. But at least half of them.

He only stops hugging Ryan because Taylor tells him to “quit hogging the rookie,” and pulls Ryan away into his own arms instead.

By the time Ryan is standing in the middle of the living room independently and not being cuddled, he looks a little shaky on his feet and Jordan laughs.

“We run an affectionate ship, Nuge, you’d better get used to it.”

“I think I can do that,” Ryan says, and of course he can. He’s Ryan Nugent-Hopkins. He can do anything.

 

-

 

Except face down spiders, it emerges.

Apparently Ryan is totally down to get taken to the boards by dudes almost twice his size a few nights a week, but put an eight legged insect in Hallsy’s bathroom and he’s running to hide behind Jordan while he yells at Taylor to get rid of it.

It’s totally ridiculous, and stupidly endearing and nothing less than Jordan would expect from Ryan.  
“Is it gone?” Ryan whispers, peeking over Jordan’s shoulder with his face hidden in against the back of Jordan’s neck, his hands clenched tight in the sides of Jordan’s shirt.

Taylor comes back empty handed, hopefully having flushed the spider because Jordan can totally get rid of them himself, he _can_ , he just also thinks that if you put them outside then they’ll come back and bring friends. It’s simply practical to let Taylor deal with these things, and Jordan certainly doesn’t enjoy the way he feels, knowing he’s not the most scared person in the room right now. It definitely doesn’t make him feel kind of warm and maybe proud to know that if Taylor couldn’t do it for both of them then Jordan could have handled this, he could take care of Ryan if he needed to.

All that matters is that the spider is gone, and Ryan is still clinging to Jordan and maybe Taylor should have taken his time.

But when Taylor says “All gone,” and reaches to pat Ryan consolingly on the hand Ryan takes his instead and pulls him into a hug, not moving from behind Jordan, keeping him sandwiched in the middle when Ryan reaches around him to hold onto Taylor.

“My heroes,” Ryan says, mostly sarcastically, but Jordan flushes at his inclusion anyway.

He’d slay dragons for Ryan if he could.

 

-

 

The next morning Ryan skips an optional skate, and Jordan’s pretty sure that’s the first time he’s done so. Definitely with the Oilers, but probably in his entire life.

“Are you sick again?” Jordan asks, pushing his hand up underneath Ryan’s bangs to check his temperature.

“No,” Ryan huffs, batting Jordan’s hand away from his face, “I just have some stuff to do today.”

“That’s no attitude to have when you’re behind in the rookie scoring race, Nugget,” Taylor says, shaking his head.

“Fuck off, I hear enough about that from Gabe,” Ryan says, and Jordan will never get over how awesome it is to hear Ryan so easily and automatically tell one of them to fuck off. He’s such a quiet, polite kid and the total opposite when he’s home with them, and Jordan loves that. He doesn’t love hearing about Gabriel Landeskog in any capacity, but he’s learning to deal. Mostly. But if Ryan decides to revisit his ‘no more hooking up’ policy on that front then Jordan will definitely have to revisit his ‘no letting Taylor beat up rival rookies’ policy. Fair is fair.

“Seriously, I’m fine, go work on your eternal struggle to keep up with me,” Ryan tells them, ushering them out of the apartment, and Jordan kind of wants to kiss him on the cheek before he leaves.

He glances back just before they reach the elevator and Ryan is still standing in the doorway, leaning back against the door jamb with his arms folded over his chest, watching them leave. He’s smiling slightly, and Jordan takes a deep breath and reaches for Taylor’s hand when they step onto the elevator.

Jordan isn’t totally confident that Ryan’s still going to be there when they get back. He won’t be until he gets home and sees Ryan there for himself. But he’s got Taylor, and Ryan has said he wants to be there, so between the three of them they can make that work, Jordan thinks. However many mistakes they’ve got to make first, however many times they’ve got to bring Ryan back, eventually he’ll stay. Jordan is confident of that.

 

-

 

Ryan is still there when they get home. And he’s not alone.

In the short space of time they’ve been gone he’s actually gone and acquired a construction team. Jordan is impressed and only a little bit scared.

“What’s going on, Nuge?” Taylor asks, and he sounds genuinely curious, not at all alarmed by how Ryan now needs reinforcements for his plans.

Ryan looks nervous.

“I … you’re always complaining about how Jordan’s bathroom isn’t even big enough for two, and if … I just thought it’d make more sense to take the bath out of Jordan’s bathroom, since it’s never been used, and extend the shower? I kind of wanted it to be a surprise, but I also wanted to ask, so they haven’t started work yet, we just stripped the tile because that needed to be done anyway, but I was waiting to see what you said before we did anything major.”

Jordan isn’t touching that last ‘we’.

Taylor looks at Jordan and shrugs and Jordan thinks it sounds like an awesome idea.

“You’ve got all this ready to go today?”

“Yeah I’ve been planning it for a while, I picked out this really great shower, look,” Ryan says, showing Jordan a booklet that’s got a big red circle and lots of notes scribbled in the margins around a picture of a shower that looks like something Jordan’s only ever seen on ‘Cribs’. It’s huge. With dark blue tile, and chrome fixtures, and huge shower heads on three walls. Jordan thinks about all the times he and Taylor have nearly brained themselves showering together, sometimes to save time, and sometimes to squander it enjoyably. He thinks about doing both of those things with Taylor _and_ Ryan, and it’s not even his fault that his brain went there, because this shower started it, Ryan started it. Jordan is - as always - the victim here.

It seems almost too good to be true. But,

“Don’t we have to ask for permission to change stuff in the apartment?” Taylor asks, and yes - that.

Ryan blushes.

“Okay I also did another thing, which you’ll maybe be mad at me for, but you said not to keep asking to do things, so … I checked with the building owner, and he said it was okay once we used a contractor from the approved list, which I did, and also … I asked about being added to the lease? And got the forms for that? While I was there? You don’t have to, and one of you can sign the remodel forms instead, so … the shower thing isn’t a condition of my moving in permanently and vice versa. Whatever you guys want is fine.”

“Yes,” Jordan says, and Taylor and Ryan both look at him.

“Yes to …” Ryan prompts.

“All of that, right?” Jordan asks Taylor, and Taylor smiles at Jordan like he’s proud of him for something, and nods.

“Only on the condition that we split the cost of the work,” Taylor adds, and Ryan frowns.

He barters them down to him paying half and them paying the other half between them, but he’s still clearly bummed about not getting away with paying for the entire thing, and Jordan wants to hit him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper or something, but he’s too cute.

And he’s moving in, and signing legal documents that say that’s what he wants.

 

-

 

Eventually they have to drag Ryan out of the apartment for the rest of the day, because the contractor takes Taylor aside and tells him that Ryan won’t stop doing their job for them. He also says that Ryan has a real knack for plumbing, and stares wistfully at Ryan’s hands around a wrench until Taylor is towing Ryan away and grabbing Jordan as they go. They're really not prepared to add 'the plumbing profession' to the list of things they might lose Ryan to.

 

-

 

They end up at the mall, because there’s not a ton of things to do on a Wednesday afternoon in Edmonton. They get smoothies and Ryan and Jordan drag Taylor to the bookstore, but then he makes them watch him try on fifteen different cardigans so they’re even. They mostly just wander, window shopping, and chirping one another about their respective taste or lack thereof in clothes, and it’s nice. It’s nothing special, nothing life changing, just another day Jordan gets to spend with Taylor and Ryan knowing that he has everything he needs and almost everything he wants. It’s pretty perfect.

 

-

 

So Taylor’s room has officially become Ryan’s room, and Jordan’s room is Jordan and Taylor’s room, which it more or less always has been.

But unofficially, nothing is really set in stone. Ryan naps in Jordan’s bed before games, and more times than not Jordan will join him. They fall asleep talking and wake up tangled together in the middle of the bed, sharing the same pillow and breathing the same air.

Ryan diffuses the first such instance of such by laughing softly and gently pushing Jordan away, and that’s how it happens from then on. Easily. Without fuss.

One morning Jordan wakes up alone, and goes to find Taylor asleep in his old room. He’s lying flat on his back in the middle of the bed, with one arm around Ryan, who has his head pillowed on Taylor’s chest and his arm around Taylor’s waist. They’re sleeping soundly.

Jordan smiles, and tiptoes back out of the room.

Then he goes and sits on the floor in the living room, with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands. He doesn’t move until his chest isn’t so tight, until he can draw breath without it hurting. It takes a long time, and the ache doesn’t completely go away. But that’s nothing Jordan hasn’t learned to deal with.

 

-

 

They have a game against St Louis that night, and Ryan scores but they lose. It’s nothing they’re not used to, but it doesn’t feel like everything they deserve either. This season has been important, and personally successful for Jordan and Taylor and Ryan, but a lot of the time it feels like they’re working as hard as they can, doing all the right things, and reaping none of the reward, never ever moving forward.

It’s kind of the inverse of what’s happening at home.

There, they’re constantly finding ways to make progress. Falling into it when they’re not even really looking for it to begin with. Jordan watches all the tiny ways that they get more comfortable with one another, all the places where they draw together, huddle close. He sees it happening, and he can’t bring himself to stop it. Things are moving and changing and Jordan isn’t trying, isn’t pushing for that. Neither is Taylor, and Ryan couldn’t be. It’s happening for no reason.

It’s effortless.

It’s like it’s simply how they fit together, how they were meant to be.

 

-

 

They’ve got a couple of days off after their next game, and Whits calls Taylor to ask if he wants to go out tonight with some of the guys.

Taylor puts the call on speakerphone and looks at Jordan and Ryan.

Jordan shrugs.

“I guess? We’re not doing anything else, right?”

“No,” Ryan says, “you said you were making fajitas for dinner, but we don’t have plans for tonight.”

“Lord give me strength,” comes Whits’ response, tinny and incredulous across the line.

He says something about the three of them being the greatest waste of youth he’s ever witnessed and hangs up, but a few minutes later he texts the three of them the address of the bar they’re meeting at.

 

-

It’s Whits and Sam and Jeff and Ladi, and the new guy Schultz, and everyone else is already there by the time Taylor and Ryan and Jordan arrive. It sucks that Maggie and Anton and Tubes aren’t in town right now, but it’s not like they get a ton of time to socialize, anyway.

It’s a normal night out, plenty of chirping and laughs and not much drinking done, but the noise dies down and Jordan wishes he’d had more to drink when Whits says to Taylor and Jordan,

“So are you gonna stop coming out now that you’ve got added another pair of hands to the marital bed?”

Ryan is at the bar with Jeff, and he’s laughing at something Jeff has just said. He looks happy. Jordan is glad he isn’t here to hear this, at least. Whits doesn’t mean anything by it, and Jordan knows that, and he knows that Taylor knows it too. They’ve never explicitly discussed their relationship, but everyone knows how it is and it’s never been a problem.

This isn’t a problem either, but Jordan doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to explain that Ryan moved in with them because he likes their company, because they like his. He doesn’t know how to say that it isn’t weird that him and Taylor are sleeping together and no-one is sleeping with Ryan, except in the sense that they nap together sometimes, and fall asleep watching movies, and now have a two bedroom apartment and a three person shower, both of which accommodate Taylor and Jordan being in a relationship and Ryan being somehow part of that but not included in it. Jordan doesn’t know how to say that because it doesn’t make sense and it’s not what he wants and it’s nothing that anyone could believe.

“It’s not like that,” Taylor says, and Jordan wants to laugh, but he also wants to throw up.

“You mean neither of you are hitting that?” Whits pushes, glancing over at Ryan and raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“We wouldn’t do that,” Taylor grits out, and he’s losing his temper now, he’s not happy that Whits is talking about Ryan like that, and he’s not happy that they’ve got to talk about this. Jordan gets it, he understands and he feels the same way, but he’s level-headed enough to know that they’ve got to pick their battles. This isn’t one they have to fight.

“Ryan’s our friend. We’re looking out for him,” Jordan says, grabbing Taylor’s hand and squeezing it under the table.

Ryan comes back and slides in next to Jordan. When he leans across Jordan to pass Taylor his beer he glances down at where Jordan and Taylor’s hands are locked white knuckled together, and he frowns. He knocks his knee in against Jordan’s and keeps it there for the rest of the night, but he doesn’t say anything.

Jordan doesn’t bring it up, either.

 

-

 

The next afternoon after practice Sutts corners Jordan in the tunnel.

“Kid, you and I are friends, and I will kick anyone’s ass who tries to mess with you or your boys, on or off the ice.”

It’s a big statement, and even bigger for the fact that it’s coming from Andy Sutton, who is towering over Jordan and somehow managing to both frown menacingly and nod with kind conviction at the same time.

It’s true though, and Jordan knows it. He counts on it every night, and Andy is one of the older guys who he’s really grown close to, someone he looks up to in more ways than just the obvious.

“Whitney said you’re losing it, and that I needed to check in with you. And that he’s sorry, but you don’t need me to tell you that, right? You’re a smart kid. You know we’ve all got your back.”

Andy raises his eyebrows when he says this, like he’s daring Jordan to contradict him.

“I know,” Jordan says instead, because he does. The three of them do. It’s just not always easy to remember that they know it, to know it at all times.

“So whatever you’re doing with the rookie, you do it right. I don’t want to have to rough you up, but I will, if you make me have to,” Sutts says, and Jordan smiles.

“It’s not like that,” he says.

“Yes it is,” Sutts says, and he’s an intimidating man to disagree with, but Jordan has to.

“Not for him,” Jordan says, and it’s deafening. Huge and booming in the tunnel and ringing hot and sharp in his ears, pounding heavy in his heart.

Sutts throws an arm around Jordan’s shoulders and leads him back to the locker room.

“If you say so,” is all he says.

 

-

 

It’s not exactly easy, living with his boyfriend and someone Jordan wants to be _their_ boyfriend.

Luckily Ryan is a very smart and astute guy, and they’re able to successfully implement and abide by the ‘closed door’ rule, by which it stands that if a bedroom door is closed, you don’t go in there.  
Jordan and Taylor have a lot of sex in their amazing new shower, which is thankfully about as far from Ryan’s room as it could be. They trade quiet, messy handjobs and blowjobs most mornings, and some afternoons, and before they fall asleep they close their bedroom door and get lost in one another, hide tangled in their sheets from everything that’s not in this room, in this bed.

But the last thing Jordan does before he falls asleep every night is open their bedroom door as wide as it goes.

 

-

 

Of course, the downside to the system is that sometimes when Jordan goes to pull the door to his and Taylor’s room open, he sees that Ryan’s bedroom door is closed.

 

-

 

The next time they have a few days off in a row, Taylor gets bored. And when Taylor gets bored, he gets creative. It usually ends tragically.

They’re lying around in the living room, Taylor and Ryan sitting next to one another on the couch and Jordan lying on the floor in front of them, tossing the remote control into the air and catching it. They’ve played every video game they can think of and watched every movie in this apartment at least ten times by now.

So when Taylor snatches the remote out of mid-air and says “Hey I’ve got an idea,” Jordan is desperate enough to sit up and listen.

“Let’s play ‘I’ve Never’!”

Ryan laughs and says “What are we, teenage girls at a sleepover?”

Taylor snorts and looks at him pointedly.

“Hey I’m two years younger than you, come on.”

“I just thought it’d be a fun roommate bonding exercise, but if you wanna keep secrets from us, Nuge, that’s fine,” Taylor says lightly, because he is a mastermind at bending people to his will when he wants to be.

“Fine,” Ryan says, determined now, and that’s what brings Jordan fully onboard with this stupid, stupid plan. He kind of wants to know what Taylor will be able to get out of Ryan. So he gets up and goes to retrieve a bottle of tequila, and three shot glasses, because if they’re doing this then they’re doing it right. Maybe it’s a bad idea to get Ryan drunk, but they don’t have a game tomorrow and Jordan is absolutely prepared to hold his hair back if he pukes.

Taylor starts them off.

“I’ve never scored a hat trick.”

He and Ryan grin at one another and throw back their shots.

 

-

 

After about an hour they’re all a little wasted, and laughing at one another and themselves. They’re not sticking to the rules anymore, pausing between shots to tell the stories behind their choices and question the validity thereof.

They’re drunk-loose and wired, and Taylor must see this as his time to strike.

“I’ve never fucked a dude,” he says, and smiles when they all drink their shots.

Jordan is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them now, and Jordan concentrates on refilling their glasses when they hold them out to him, struggles hard through the drunk, hazed logic of ‘but I wanna’ that makes it hard not to think about all of Ryan’s answers when they veer into this territory. Taylor has been smart so far, padding the relationship statements with hockey things, youthful indiscretions, personal truths. He doesn’t bother now, though.

“I’ve never been fucked _by_ a dude,” he says, and it’s not even his turn but they all drink anyway. Ryan looks at Taylor as he drinks, and then at Jordan when he holds out his shot glass for another refill. Jordan feels pinned by the look, held in place by Ryan’s scrutiny. He isn’t looking at Jordan like he’s looking for something though, just watching him. That’s worse somehow. It makes Jordan feel hot all over, drunk and dazed in a way that turns sharp and painfully clear when Ryan looks at him.

“I’ve never kissed someone else’s boyfriend,” Taylor says quietly, shattering the moment.

Ryan’s eyes widen, and he quickly turns to look at Taylor.

“Taylor,” Jordan warns, but Taylor doesn’t look away from Ryan.

Ryan’s fidgeting with his shot glass, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Taylor,” he begins, and Taylor responds to this utterance of his name, answers with a ‘hmm?’

“I didn’t mean to … I know I shouldn’t have. But then nobody said anything and I didn’t want to make it worse by bringing it up and I thought … I thought if we didn’t talk about it it’d be like it never happened. It shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”

Taylor seems to think about what Ryan has said, and he tilts his head and half nods in that way of his that means there’s something he wants to say but won’t. Ryan knows as much.

“Did it …” he looks quickly at Jordan, “did I cause trouble between you two? You didn’t fight, did you? Because it was totally my fault, it was all me, Jordan didn’t do anything, it was -”

“It was you,” Taylor finishes for him, and Ryan swallows hard.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and thick with something like regret.

Jordan doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing he can say. Everyone knows what happened, they’re all on the same page as far as this one kiss goes, and there’s nothing for him to explain, nothing for him to swear won’t happen again because they all know that already. So he stays silent and lets this take its course, but he reaches out and puts his hand on Ryan’s knee, because Ryan has to know that it’s okay, that he has nothing to feel bad about.

“We didn’t fight,” Taylor says, shifting in his seat so he’s almost turned onto his side, facing Ryan, leaning over him a little with his elbow on the back of the couch propping him up. Ryan slides lower in his seat, pushing Jordan’s hand higher on his knee but not moving away from Taylor, not shying from this conversation.

“But it’s not exactly fair, is it?” Taylor asks, and Jordan wants to laugh, wants to shake his head in disbelief. He wants to stand up and drag Taylor off the sofa and shake him, because he can’t be about to do what Jordan thinks he’s about to do.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asks, and Jordan doesn’t know if he can watch this.

“Well,” Taylor says, “Jordan and I are together, and you kissed Jordan.”

Ryan pales, and starts to stutter out another apology until Taylor shakes his head and ‘sshhh’s him.

“It’s okay that you did that, but it’s just not fair. Because we’re together and Jordan has kissed you, and I haven’t, and that’s not fair. It’s not equal. So I think maybe you should kiss me,” Taylor says, and he says it in this way that almost has Jordan nodding along with it, seems to make so much sense that it’s ridiculous. But they’re drunk, and it’s _Ryan_ , and.

“Really?” Ryan asks, and he’s basically lying down on the sofa now, his knees spread out and apart and Jordan’s hand having slipped down with the gradual motion, his palm warm in against the inside of Ryan’s thigh.

“I can?” Ryan asks, and jesus. Jordan doesn’t know if he can watch this. He knows he can’t look away.

“If you want,” Taylor says, shrugging his shoulders and using the movement to hide the way he shifts closer to Ryan, tilts his head and watches Ryan, waiting.

Ryan looks between Jordan and Taylor, wide-eyed and stunned, and Jordan is about to step in and put a stop to all of this when Ryan fists his hands in Taylor’s shirt and _yanks_ him down over him, lets his head thump back against the couch and Jordan feels the way Ryan goes boneless underneath Taylor, lifting his chin in this somehow obscene, desperate stretch to reach Taylor.

Taylor goes easily, catches himself with one hand on the arm of the couch and then he’s bracketing Ryan completely, leaning in to take Ryan’s mouth in this kiss that Jordan nearly feels himself, because it’s frantic and careless and _needy_ and Ryan is making these half-pained little sounds and sucking at Taylor’s lower lip and Taylor is letting him, hovering over Ryan and only giving in as much as Ryan wants him to, only giving what Ryan takes.

It’s nothing like when Ryan kissed Jordan, and Jordan is jealous and not jealous at all, because he wouldn’t change a thing about how it had felt when Ryan had pressed his mouth to Jordan’s.

When Ryan and Taylor pull apart they’re both breathing hard, and they separate only far enough to stare at one another, Ryan looking up at Taylor and sucking his own bottom lip between his teeth, shifting in his seat. Taylor’s fingers tighten around the arm rest and the back of the couch and he leans in again, just close enough to brush his nose against Ryan’s and then he pulls away and sits back in his seat and takes a deep breath.

They both look at Jordan, but it’s not like they’re only now remembering that he’s there, it’s more like they’re looking to him for a reaction, like this was about him all along. He doesn’t know what they want from him. He tries to smile, but he can’t. He tries to be angry or jealous, but he can’t.

After a minute he does the only thing he can do. He gets up and he touches both of their hands where they’re nearly touching between them on the couch, and then he goes to bed.

Taylor follows him a moment later, and just before he falls asleep Jordan hears Ryan’s bedroom door close.

 

-

 

They don’t talk about the kiss. Again.

Ryan is kind of quiet the next morning, but Jordan chalks it up to a hangover, because by that afternoon everything is totally back to normal and it seems like there’s nothing to talk about.

Maybe this is full circle. Maybe Ryan figures that he’s fixed things now, and everything’s square. He’d seemed pretty enthusiastic about kissing Taylor, desperate and relieved and all kinds of things that Jordan has never had to associate with Ryan before, but. Maybe Jordan had just been reading too much into it, seeing what he wanted to see. Maybe kissing guys is a different experience for Ryan. He’s just a couple years younger than Jordan and Taylor, but the world is changing pretty fast these days, and two years is a long time between generations of hockey players. Younger guys are moving faster up through the ranks, bringing with them a different attitude to sexuality, and whereas Jordan and Taylor weren’t always afraid to be who they were, maybe Ryan has never felt like he has to be. Maybe kissing is just kissing and doesn’t ever have to be more than that for him.

That’s how it should be, Jordan thinks. He can’t begrudge Ryan the kind of freedom they all deserve. He can feel a little sorry for himself, though.

He doesn’t want to think that Ryan can kiss them and have that not mean anything to him. Not when it kind of means everything to them.

 

-

 

Jordan and Taylor don’t talk about it either. There’s nothing to say that they haven’t already said a hundred times before. So Taylor got to kiss Ryan too and he’s clearly and understandably thrilled about that. Jordan’s happy for him.

It doesn’t change a thing.

 

-

 

And so on it goes.

Nothing changes, but everything feels different anyway.

They live together, the three of them, and there’s rarely a time when they’re apart. Sometimes Taylor goes golfing with Sam, and Ryan opts out to stay home with Jordan. Sometimes Jordan has lunch with Sutts and Ryan and Taylor eat out or get Jamie off their backs for another month by letting her cook for them. Sometimes they both arrive home to find a note from Ryan, saying he's gong out for a couple hours. He doesn't say where he's going and they don't ask, they don't feel like they need to.

There’s never any jealousy, never a time when anyone is left out or left alone.

It just works. All the time. In every single way they need it to. Almost.

 

-

 

Taylor is, as always, the one to throw a spanner in the works.

It’s like now that he’s had his tongue in Ryan’s mouth he thinks that means he’s got the go ahead to be just about as inappropriate with Ryan as it’s possible to be without breaking any laws.

At practice you could be forgiven for assuming that Ryan’s the teammate he’s dating. Taylor wrestles him to the ice every opportunity he gets, and he makes sure he gets a lot of them. Ryan barely fights back, because he knows he doesn’t have a chance at overpowering Hallsy. Or else he just loves being pinned to the ice by all 200+ pounds of the guy, because he folds the second Taylor so much as looks at him, falling breathless and grinning and grabbing at Taylor’s jersey or holding his hands out to Jordan to help him up.

Between drills Taylor chases Ryan and tries to squirt him with water or gatorade, pinning Ryan against the boards by the hips and holding both of Ryan’s wrists in one hand so he can get the front of his jersey soaking wet and clinging to him with it.

In the locker room he’s like a caged lion or something. Practically prowling around Ryan when he gets changed, all but growling at anyone who dares to try and pick on Ryan just because he’s the new guy. It’s nothing they don’t all go through as rookies, but Taylor seems to have decided that Ryan is above it all now, because anyone who says anything less than totally complimentary to Ryan suffers the full force of Hallsy’s considerable wrath.

When he thinks no-one’s looking Taylor will pull Ryan in against his side with his arm around Ryan’s neck and his hand pressed flat to Ryan’s chest, speaking to him in low, pleased tones and saying things that leave Ryan blushing and smiling small private smiles that Jordan recognizes as pride. He doesn’t hide them from Jordan, but neither of them make the effort to explain them to Jordan either.

Ryan blossoms under the attention. He’s happier than Jordan has ever known him to be, brighter and louder and the best thing Jordan has ever seen.

It’s even worse at home.

When Ryan tries to get up off the couch to go and get ready for practice or a game, Taylor reaches for him and tugs him tumbling down into his lap instead. And Ryan goes. He lets Taylor keep a hand around a wrist, sits patiently between Taylor’s thighs or perched on his knees, and they have these crazily familiar, domestic little half arguments that aren’t arguments at all. The only thing that surprises Jordan about them is that they don’t end in the two of them just straight up making out again, because that seems like the inevitable conclusion here.

Taylor spends a ton of time in Ryan’s room - his old room - lounging on Ryan’s bed and having half shouted conversations over the noise of the spray when Ryan’s in the shower, watching him towel off when he gets out and doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he’s checking Ryan out. Jordan knows because whenever the two of them disappear for too long, he finds increasingly shallow reasons to go looking for them. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find. He doesn’t know what he wants to find. But he’s relieved and disappointed when they’re on opposite sides of the room every single time, even if the looks they throw him are somehow guilty, something like shame and longing and impatience.

Jordan wants to ask Taylor what he thinks he’s doing, what’s happening here. He wants to ask Taylor why he’s bothering with this pretense, why he doesn’t just jump in the shower with Ryan, if Ryan will let him. But Jordan doesn’t ask, because he’s afraid to hear the answer. He’s afraid the answer will be what he wants to hear.

Taylor keeps pushing, keeps reaching out like he can, like he’s allowed to, and Jordan … Jordan envies him that, mostly.

Jordan wants to do all the things that Taylor does, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He’s still pretty stuck on spending almost every afternoon wrapped up in Ryan, sometimes going so far as to skip his nap so he can lie awake next to Ryan instead. So he can close his eyes and listen to Ryan breathe. So he’s still awake when Ryan reaches for him in his sleep, and can go willingly into Ryan’s arms, getting to feel all the ways Ryan strains for him, pulls Jordan’s limbs around him like he’s Ryan’s favorite blanket. Ryan goes so still for him then, smiling in his sleep and sighing contentedly and Jordan wishes it really was for him, and not just for the warmth, the contact and the comfort.

Jordan isn’t happy.

But it’s not because Taylor and Ryan are growing so close, or because they’re both so happy because of it. It’s not because he feels left out or jealous or anything like that.

It’s because he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he can do. He knows what he wants, and he knows he can’t have that.

Taylor goes at it backwards. He does what he wants and in doing so decides that those are the things he can have.

Jordan doesn’t have that kind of confidence.

He doesn’t think he deserves everything he wants.

 

-

 

When Jordan needs to think, he cooks. He pulls up the simplest or most familiar recipes he can find online, and he holes up in the kitchen and works it out.

Taylor has long since learned not to bother him when he gets like this, but Ryan is either not as used to Jordan’s moods or he simply already knows better than to humor them, because the next time they have an afternoon off and Jordan tries to shut himself away in the kitchen, Taylor very wisely decides today is the perfect day for a round of golf with some of the guys, and Ryan decides to play Jordan’s shadow.

Jordan doesn’t say anything to Ryan, but he doesn’t ask him to leave either. Not that he ever would, no matter what. He might rather Ryan wasn’t here right now, but that’s never something he’s going to ask for.

He comes close when Ryan shuts Jordan’s laptop, nearly closing his hands in it, and drops a stack of baking recipe books on the counter instead. Jordan frowns at him, but Ryan just keeps right on smiling in return, this stupidly hopeful look on his face that’s the most manipulative thing Jordan has ever had to deal with. And by ‘deal with’ he means ‘instantly give in to’, make no mistake. Jordan Eberle is a proud man, but he knows what he wants, and disappointing Ryan is not on that list. There's so much he wants to be able to do for Ryan, so much more than Ryan will ever ask for, and he's desperate to be asked, desperate to be needed.

“Baking?” he asks, “really?”

Ryan shrugs, still smiling.

“Why not, eh?”

Jordan eyes the books and then sighs.

“Okay what do you want?”

Ryan beams.

Jordan grabs a book so he has something to do with his hands that isn’t pushing Ryan up onto the counter and seeing just how happy Jordan could make him, and looks away, trying far too hard to look put upon.

 

-

 

When Taylor comes home four hours later, they’ve got nanaimo bars chilling in the fridge, cupcakes cooling on the counter and apple pie just about ready to come out of the oven.

There’s flour everywhere, frosting smeared across Ryan’s cheek and Jordan honestly worries he’s pulled a muscle his abs hurt so much from laughing. The kitchen is warm and every single counter is covered in clutter, the whole apartment smells like chocolate and sugar and when Taylor walks in the door it’s like seeing his face makes something click into place for Jordan, because he’s home, and standing looking at him with Ryan by his side, their apartment filled with the sights and sounds and smells of Jordan’s childhood and everything he’s earned since then, Jordan is home too.

Taylor drops his clubs by the front door and comes to stand behind them where they’re frosting cupcakes at the island. Taylor wraps one arm around Jordan’s waist and props his head in on Jordan’s shoulder, kissing the side of his face, and he throws his other arm around Ryan’s shoulders, dragging him in right up against Jordan, the three of them leaning into one another, touching and sharing space.

That’s just how Taylor is. And if it makes Ryan happy, then it makes Jordan happy too. There’s nothing to think about, really. Thinking is the problem, maybe. When Jordan stops worrying and lets himself just enjoy whatever it is that they're doing here, he's good. This is good.

_They’re_ good.

 

-

 

They win some tough games, and they lose some that they should win. It feels a little like two steps forward, one step back, but that’s their season so far and there’s nothing they can do about that. There’s nothing they can do that they haven’t already been doing for months. By the beginning of March they know that this isn’t their year, that the playoffs were probably never a realistic goal for this season.

They’re all frustrated, but none of them are hopeless. It’s exactly the opposite, really. If this season has taught them anything, it’s that they’ve got everything they need to be the team they want to be. They’ve got all the pieces, and now it’s just a matter of putting them together in the right order. They know what they’ve got to do, and next season they’re going to do it.

For now, all they can do is keep on trying, keep pushing and preparing and doing what they’re in a position to do right now. It’s not enough, but it’s not nothing.

It’s a world of potential.

It’s victory to be realized.

 

-

 

They know now that there’s something to be won.

 

-

 

Then Taylor goes and gets himself concussed thirty nine seconds into their game against the Flames, and Ryan and Jordan lose it.

Taylor comes off the ice clearly shaken up, pale and lost and Jordan’s never ever seen him look like that. Taylor shrugs off the medical team to go and sit next to Ryan and Jordan on the bench for a second, but they know that’s all it is, they know he’s going down the tunnel and not coming back this period, not during this game or any number that follow.

“Hey, score a goal for me, yeah?” he says, trying to smile, and Jordan doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to smile again. Taylor hits them both across the knees with his stick, and then he’s up and off the bench and being ushered back to the medical suite and before Jordan even registers it Ryan has his own glove and Jordan’s off, and their fingers tangled tight together under the bench where the cameras can’t pick it up. Jordan holds on tighter and doesn’t let go until their line is called.

 

-

 

Ryan and Jordan score a goal each, and Jordan grabs an assist on Ryan’s. It’s the closest to punching every Calgary player in the face that they can get, and it feels almost as good.

 

-

 

They play out the rest of the first period and then they’re yanking off their helmets and dropping their gloves just inside the locker room, pulling off their skates and jogging to find Taylor in their sock feet, still in full gear.

Nobody tries to stop them, no-one says anything.

When they get to him, he’s sitting up in a dark, quiet room and the doctor with him takes one look at both of their faces and nods and leaves, telling them quietly not to let Taylor fall asleep.

He opens his eyes when he hears the door close.

“Hey,” he says, like he’s just saying good morning to them, like he’s not lying here concussed during a game.

“What did the doctors say, are you okay?” Jordan asks, and he and Ryan go to either side of Taylor, Jordan pushing Taylor’s hair back off his face and Ryan reaching for his hand.

Taylor huffs and tries to shake them off, says “Quit it, I’m fine,” even though he’s not. He’s not fine.

Ryan grabs his hand harder.

“Yeah well, we’re not,” he says quietly, and Jordan doesn’t know what he’d do without him, he doesn’t know what he’d do if Ryan weren’t here to keep them together.

No-one says anything for a minute, but Taylor lets Ryan hold his hand and smiles at Jordan.

“Are we winning, at least?” he asks eventually, and Jordan rolls his eyes, but Ryan grins.

“We scored a goal for you,” he says, and Taylor’s face lights up a little, and then he winces. Jordan smoothes his thumb down over the crease of pain between Taylor’s eyebrows and tries not to freak out.

“So we’re up one?” Taylor asks, because this is how he deals with it. This is how he deals with everything that isn’t their relationship, because that and hockey are all that matter to him.

“We’re up two,” Jordan says smiling.

“We scored a goal for you _each_ ,” Ryan says, and Taylor laughs, and Jordan’s chest gets a little less tight, he can breathe again for a moment.

Taylor reaches for Jordan’s hand and presses a kiss across his knuckles.

“My best boys,” he says, and then they’re being ushered out and expected to keep on playing this game and they have to and they want to but every time Jordan looks at Ryan when he thinks he isn’t being watched, Ryan looks small and _scared_ and those are two things that Jordan never thought he’d have to say about Ryan, not out here, not like this.

 

-

 

They keep it together somehow, and Ryan scores again in the third period to seal a 3 - 1 win. He plays like it’s a personal attack on their entire opposing team, on the whole fucking league. A war against hockey itself, maybe. Jordan is proud and frightened, but he’s got Ryan and they’ve got Taylor and they win this game and they’ll get to take Taylor home. They’ll be together there, and nothing can touch them.

They’re back with Taylor in the breaks between every period, and it’s looking like he’s definitely concussed, but he’s in good enough spirits, predictably only worried about how long it’ll be before he can get back out there. It probably won’t be for a while, and he’s not going to take that well, but he’s okay and that’s all that matters.

They wait together in silence while Taylor gets checked out again before he’s given the okay to go home, and their teammates don’t say anything to them. The mood in the locker room is good but subdued, and as everyone files out to leave for the night, as they walk by Ryan and Jordan sitting hastily dressed and still soaking wet from their quick showers, they each thump them both on the shoulder, as gently as hockey players can. It’s like a fist bump after a goal, or the rough, regretful touch from injured players as they file out onto the ice. It’s understanding and solidarity. Quiet support.

It’s for Jordan _and_ Ryan, and if Jordan had the presence of mind to think about it, he’d realize it feels like acceptance, like offered strength and love.

 

-

 

Something shifts again, that night.

They get Taylor home and tucked up carefully in bed, and Jordan slides in next to him and for the first time it doesn’t feel like he only wants Ryan there with them, it feels like he needs him.

Like they need him.

Even after Taylor falls asleep, Jordan stays awake watching over him, and Ryan stands in the doorway to their room, watching both of them. Jordan wants to reach for him, wants and needs that more than anything, but if he can shoulder some of this and let Ryan go and sleep in peace then he’ll go it alone. He’ll be strong for them so Ryan doesn’t have to.

Jordan doesn’t know how long Ryan stands there, but when he falls asleep it’s only because of the quiet, reassuring thump of Taylor’s heart against Jordan’s chest. With Taylor sleeping next to him, Jordan knows he's safe. Ryan's right there, he's with them and he's fine. With Ryan watching them, Jordan feels like he is too.

 

-

 

Jordan wants to keep right on freaking out about Taylor being concussed, and part of him probably will, but the next day Taylor has to go and have more tests done, and Ryan sits on the couch and watches Jordan pace back and forth across the living room floor for all of four seconds before he’s on his feet and knocking Jordan off his.

Ryan fists his hands in the front of Jordan’s hoodie, the hard lines of his knuckles pinning Jordan’s chest to the wall that Ryan shoves him up against.

Jordan stares at him, wide-eyed in surprise and alarm.

“Ryan, what --”

Ryan’s fingers unclench, and he smoothes the wrinkles he’d rucked across Jordan’s hoodie with gentle hands.

“We’re professional hockey players, Jordan,” he says, and it’s both kind and sharp enough to cut deep and settle under Jordan’s skin.

“I know that, Ryan, it’s not like I don’t --”

“We’re going to get hurt,” Ryan cuts him off, his palms heavy on Jordan’s shoulders, holding him still so he’ll listen, so he’ll hear what Ryan is saying.

“I got hurt,” Ryan says, and it sounds like a question. Like he’s not sure it happened, like he doesn’t want to bring it up. Like he’s asking how Jordan dealt with that when he’s not dealing with this. Jordan wants to laugh. He wants to tell Ryan that he’d be exactly like this if Ryan got hurt, that he _was_ exactly like this when Ryan got hurt, because there’s nothing that he feels for Taylor that he doesn’t feel for Ryan too, but he can’t. So Jordan tells the truth in measures that he’s free to admit to, instead.

“I’d have lost my mind when you got hurt, when you got sick, if Taylor hadn’t been there to tell me to suck it up,” Jordan says, and tries to smile.

“I know,” Ryan says, and he’s not smiling at all, “so that’s what I’m doing now, okay? Suck it up, Eberle.” Ryan stresses it, says it with wide, serious eyes and no hint of anything like hesitation or uncertainty. He says it so Jordan hears it.

Jordan hears something else, in the way Ryan steps into Taylor’s shoes like that, but he doesn’t let himself look too closely at that.

“I’m a worrier, Ryan,” he says, pouting, because it’s true and because he feels like he has to explain himself.

Ryan smiles.

“Yeah, you are. It’s one of the things I lo-- uh, like about you,” he says, and Jordan doesn’t let himself hear what he wanted to hear in that. Ryan’s an articulate dude. If he wanted to tell Jordan he loved him, he would. He could. Jordan would love to hear Ryan say that.

“But less of it, okay? Taylor’s fine, we’re fine, everything’s pretty much perfect. We’re gonna finish out this season, Taylor’s going to get a bionic shoulder, and next season he’s going to score every single game, and we’re never going to hear the end of it. So if you have to worry, worry about his gloating, eh?”

“He is pretty unbearable when he’s got something to be smug about,” Jordan has to agree.

Ryan laughs, and it’s a sound that Jordan wants to wrap himself around, so he does. He pulls Ryan in and stands on his tiptoes to rest his chin over Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan’s hair tickles the side of Jordan’s face and his hands are warm splayed across Jordan’s back and this is what Jordan needs, this is what he needs to know he has.

“Thanks,” he says, ducking down to press his nose to Ryan’s shoulder, to breathe him in and know he’s there.

“Whatever you need,” Ryan says, and that’s exactly what he is.

 

-

 

Taylor’s tests don’t show anything that they hadn’t already suspected - he’s in about as good a condition as he can be in, all things considered. He still gets a little dizzy sometimes, but that’s it, that’s the last of his symptoms that are still presenting. There’s nothing for Jordan to worry about. At least not until it’s time for him to go and have his surgery. For now, they’re fine.

Taylor’s in good spirits, but there are times when Jordan can see that that’s a front. That he’s putting on a brave face to hide his frustration. He’s distant sometimes. Not in ways that make Jordan feel like they need to talk about it, but in ways that Jordan can recognize. Ways he’s had to disappear himself, lately. Taylor is brooding, really. All Ryan and Jordan can do is wait it out and be there for him when he reaches for them.

Which is a lot.

Jordan doesn’t know for sure if Taylor’s sudden clinginess is because of his concussion, because that scared him, or whether it’s more than that. Everything that’s going on, everything that’s happening and _not_ happening.

But he’s reaching for them quicker than he has before, reaching for them both without hesitation, and it’s all they can do to go.

That day when he gets back from seeing the team doctors he gives them a brief, clipped synopsis of what he’s been told. He lets Jordan ask questions for ten minutes, and then he stands up and scrubs a hand through his hair and says,

“Let’s just go and take a nap, eh? I’m tired.”

Sleep is good, sleep makes everything better as far as Jordan is concerned, so napping sounds like a great idea.

Jordan very carefully doesn’t look at either of them when Taylor reaches for both of their hands, but he sneaks a glance at Ryan when Taylor tows them both behind him down the hallway towards their room, and Ryan is suddenly very interested in the wallpaper where it meets their ceilings. Of course he’s thinking about interior design right now. Isn’t he always?

Ryan and Jordan stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed while Taylor tugs his shirt off and strips down to his boxers before crawling up to get under the covers. Ryan looks to Jordan then, and Jordan shrugs and doesn’t move. Partly because he’s not sure how or when to, and partly because he’s nothing if not a masochist about this, and he wants to know what it’s like to get to look at Ryan and Taylor in bed together and see that knowing that he’s welcome there, that he gets to join them.

After a second Ryan lets out a breath that it sounds like he’s been holding, and pushes his sweatpants off, goes to the side of the bed and glances back at Jordan again before he climbs in next to Taylor, slips under the covers that Taylor holds up for him.

Ryan, as always, looks pretty terrific in Jordan’s bed. And there next to Taylor … it’s a visual Jordan doesn’t plan on forgetting anytime soon.

He enjoys it a for a moment, and then he pulls his shirt up over his head and climbs in on Taylor’s other side. They all lie on their backs, no-one saying anything, but then almost simultaneously Ryan and Jordan turn onto their sides, each moving to face Taylor.

“Sleep tight,” Ryan says, smiling at Jordan across Taylor, and then glancing up at Taylor, his smile getting deeper, surer, even though Taylor isn’t looking at him. Taylor’s eyes are already closed, but when Ryan speaks he wiggles in place a little, shifting lower so he’s framed by them, as close to completely surrounded as he can get.

 

-

 

Jordan is jostled awake a little while later with Taylor trying to climb over him to get out of bed. Jordan blinks blearily and smiles when he sees Ryan.

“Sshh, go back to sleep, I just need to pee,” Taylor whispers, leaning down to kiss Jordan quickly before he pads off to the bathroom.

Jordan vaguely thinks about staying awake until he comes back so he can let him back into bed, but Taylor must be in there a while because Jordan drifts off again. He’s half asleep when Taylor finally returns, appearing at the other side of the bed to gently push Ryan into the middle, encouraging him to roll toward Jordan in his sleep with Taylor’s hands careful on his back and hip, trying not to wake him.

It’s because he’s half asleep that Jordan helps the way he does, pulling Ryan into his arms and cuddling him close, tucking his nose down into the heat of Ryan’s throat and holding on tight. Taylor climbs back into bed behind Ryan, and Jordan thinks he sees him smile softly at them before he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

 

-

 

When they wake up again Ryan is pretty much sandwiched in between Jordan and Taylor, pressed against Jordan at their chests and hips and thighs, their feet tangled together. Ryan has one arm tucked all the way underneath Jordan, his hand riding low on Jordan’s back, arguably on his ass, and Ryan’s other hand is resting on top of the covers, his fingers tangled with Taylor’s. That seems somehow even more intimate than Ryan’s hand on Jordan’s ass, and seeing that … it’s too much, too close to being everything Jordan wants, and right there in front of him, in bed with him, holding hands with his boyfriend.

He shifts away, prepared to fight his way out of Ryan’s hold as usual so he can run away for a minute, escape to another room and quietly, miserably freak out before they wake up. But when Jordan moves Ryan’s hand falls away easily, and Jordan is pleasantly surprised for a beat, until Ryan lifts his head from the pillow slightly to look at Jordan.

“Don’t go,” he says, his voice threatening to crack on the half whisper, “Stay here. Please.”

Jordan would have done it without the ‘please’. The ‘please’ just makes everything worse, because Ryan can’t do that, he can’t ask Jordan for the things Jordan wants when Jordan can’t say no to him, can’t deny Ryan like he could himself.

His heart is beating in his throat, it feels like, thrumming through every single bone in his body and burning a hot, heavy pulse across his skin everywhere it’s touching Ryan’s.

Jordan looks at Ryan, at the expression that’s so full of something Jordan doesn’t know to recognize, and if that’s what Ryan wants …

Jordan nods and stays where he is, doesn’t move closer to Ryan like he wants, but lets himself sigh and sink into it when Ryan surges closer into his space instead.

He can’t tell whether Taylor is awake yet or not, but one of them move their linked hands so that they rest on Jordan’s hip instead of Ryan’s, and none of them move for a while, Ryan and Jordan sharing a pillow and lying awake, looking into one another’s eyes and not saying anything with words, but saying with careful tilts of their heads, with slight and easy movements of their bodies to fit them closer together, what they probably couldn’t put into words even if they tried.

 

-

 

It’s madness. It’s crossing a line. It’s everything Jordan said he’d never do, and he beats himself up about it for the rest of the day, and then the rest of the week after that. He stops napping with Ryan, thinks that the kinks he gets across his back are no less than he deserves when he naps on the couch instead.

He can’t do this. He can’t have this. And the sooner he stops fooling himself about that, the better it’ll be for all of them. The easier it’ll be to live without it.

 

-

 

Everything is as normal as it can be at practice, during games. Taylor is still out, and it’s nearing the end of the season, and everyone’s mood dips a little. They’re all tired and disappointed and the strain between Ryan and Jordan in the locker room, on the ice, that goes relatively unnoticed by all but Jonesy and Sutts, who both narrow their eyes at Jordan and shake their heads every time Ryan trails in after him looking like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

 

-

 

Taylor and Ryan don’t call Jordan on it. They both try, but Jordan shuts it down every time. He tells Ryan that it’s too warm to nap in bed, and cuts Ryan off when he tries to say something about them sleeping without the covers. It’s harder to curb Taylor’s attempts to talk to him. Taylor knows exactly what’s going on and why, and he’s still fighting to make Jordan let them talk to Ryan about all of this, about all of them.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Taylor. I’ve told you, we’re not doing this to him. I … _we_ love him too much to mess things up for him and we’re not talking about this again, I’m not explaining this to you any more. It’s not happening and this needs to be the last time I have to tell you that.”

“But what if it didn’t mess anything up, Ebby? What if it made everything better? Whatever we’re doing right now clearly isn’t fucking working --”

“Stop it, Taylor. Just … stop, okay? If you’re prepared to risk hurting Ryan then you’re on your own with that. If you want him that badly, if you can’t get past it … then maybe you should be with Ryan instead of me. Maybe that’s what this is about,” Jordan says, and he didn’t mean to say it and he didn’t know he felt it, but once he says it he knows it’s true. If it comes down to a choice between driving Ryan away and breaking his own heart then he’d rather lose Taylor. He’d rather hurt himself to see them happy than risk doing something that’s going to tear Ryan out of their lives, because that'll leave each and every one of them miserable and Jordan doesn't know that he could be wth Taylor if they hurt Ryan, if they did that together.

Taylor doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to argue. He looks betrayed and hurt and angry and Jordan gets it, he understands. He doesn’t want to lose what they have any more than Taylor does. But Jordan doesn’t back down.

He doesn’t take it back.

 

-

 

Taylor doesn’t take it well.

 

-

 

Ryan starts throwing hits during games. He throws his body at guys who are bigger than him, way too big for him to be hitting, and Jordan wants to hit him for it. He wants to knock sense into Ryan somehow. He wants to tell Ryan that he’s doing this _for_ him, that he’s doing everything he can to protect Ryan, to keep safe the same body that Ryan is throwing around like it’s worthless, like it’s nothing, like he needs to lash out and doesn't even care if he hurts himself in the process.

Jordan wants to get them home and knock Ryan and Taylor’s heads together in the hopes that maybe between them they can see that everything Jordan does is for them and nothing that makes him anything short of utterly fucking miserable.

If he has to choose between taking care of them forever and making them happy right now, that’s a no brainer and it’s everything Jordan has always been committed to, even before he fell in love with them. He’s not about to change his mind and throw caution to the wind for the sake of naps and cuddles that will only lead to bigger problems in the end, pitfalls that they’ll _all_ fall into.

Jordan has made his bed. Ryan and Taylor are going to have to be okay with sleeping in it without him.

 

-

 

So Jordan naps on the couch, Ryan and Taylor nap together, Jordan and Ryan go out to practice and games together, and then Jordan comes home and falls asleep next to Taylor, not thinking about how their bed always smells like Ryan now. Ryan and them, together.

They’re off kilter and separated, segregated in ways that they’ve never been.

Jordan fights to keep everything else the same. To show Ryan and Taylor that nothing has changed, not really. They’re everything they’ve always been to one another. Jordan has just … given up on any hope he let himself have that they could be more. And that’s good, that’s for the best.

He pastes a smile on his face and cooks them all their favorite things for breakfast. He bakes cupcakes and crumbles for Ryan, and pulls Taylor into their three person shower every morning and tries to make up for the stifling space with his mouth, with his hands, with anything he can give Taylor without hurting anyone, without losing everything.

Taylor is patient with Jordan. Gentle and careful in every way he can be. He pays nothing but the utmost respect to the distance that has grown up around them, the wedge that this has driven between them.

Ryan clears every plate Jordan puts in front of him and smiles and says thanks, and then disappears into the dining room for hours on end, shutting the door and shutting Jordan out.

 

-

 

Taylor goes to get Ryan back without Jordan, this time.

He starts slipping into the dining room after him, shutting the door behind himself. He stays in there for hours, and Jordan can hear the low murmur of their voices that becomes quiet laughter, thick silences that Jordan doesn’t think about.

 

-

 

Jordan didn’t think it would ever ever come to this, but when he has to watch as he loses Taylor to Ryan and vice versa, he knows he has no-one to blame but himself. He knows he wouldn’t have done things differently, if he’d known that this was how it would end.

Taylor touches Ryan so easily, so obviously. Hands familiar at the small of Ryan’s back, quick to ruffle Ryan’s hair or pull Ryan in against his side.

When they sit together on the couch Taylor draws his knees up to the side, presses his thighs to Ryan’s and the soles of his feet to Jordan’s.

Eventually Ryan stops asking if Jordan is napping with him today. That’s what Jordan wanted, but it hurts more than he could have imagined.

 

-

 

One afternoon Taylor emerges from their bedroom after his nap with Ryan wearing the hoodie that Ryan went in there wearing. Jordan turns and walks away from the sight, hides in Taylor’s en suite and dry heaves after everything he’s eaten today has long since been flushed away.

He lowers the lid of the toilet seat and sits there with his cheek pressed against the cool tile and he doesn’t know when he started crying, but when he stands to look in the mirror his vision is blurred by tears. He closes his eyes and drags his fingers up under his eyelashes before they spill over, and when he can finally look in the mirror he barely recognizes himself.

Jordan stands there looking at his reflection, looking at the picture of himself standing totally alone, and he wonders how he got here. He wonders how he went from having Taylor to thinking he could have Taylor and Ryan to having no-one and nothing.

All he ever wanted was to take care of them both, to give them everything they needed. And somehow that has turned into giving them nothing at all. Jordan is empty now, consumed by all the things he isn’t giving them.

He washes his hands and splashes water on his face, and he steels himself against everything he’s got to face when he opens that door.

Jordan came in here thinking he’d lost Taylor, thinking he’d lost it all. That thought had left him shaking, hollow and alone. But in reaching that point he’d realized that this was it, this was as bad as things could possibly get. This was rock bottom, this was _nothing_ and this was what being careful had gotten him.

He could do this. He could survive this. He’s reached it.

He’s not coming back.

Jordan opens the door and goes back out there ready and prepared to do whatever it takes to make this better. Giving in doesn’t have to mean giving up, Jordan thinks. He’s had months now to do things the sensible way, to do things the hardest way he’s ever known and it’s gotten him nowhere, left him with nothing.

With nothing left to lose, Jordan is finally ready to fight.

 

-

 

Jordan doesn’t know if it’s already too late.

Taylor still sleeps in his bed, but they haven’t touched one another in days. Taylor is keeping Ryan close, tugging him in between them like a barricade, and Jordan doesn’t know if that’s space Taylor needs right now or if this is how he and Taylor will end and Taylor and Ryan will begin.

Jordan has to think about what he’ll do if that happens.

But he’ll save that task for later, because right now he’s concentrating all his efforts on getting the three of them right back where they were, and seeing if that can be every starting point instead of any kind of ending.

 

-

 

They have a big win against Nashville, with Hemmer scoring a hat trick. Ryan and Jordan both have pretty personally lacking nights, though, Jordan getting just one shot on goal and Ryan not faring much better.

The way things are at home shouldn’t have an effect on how they play, but Taylor’s out and he’s a huge part of this team’s energy, he’s the one that gets them going and keeps that pace, regardless of the score or how many people have written them off so far in this period or this game or this season. Taylor is hungry for the puck in ways that Ryan and Jordan have never had to be. He’s reckless for it, and when he chases it down and wins it for Jordan or Ryan they know what needs to be done. Ryan has the confidence and intelligence to see and do things that no-one can defend against, and Jordan has the patience to see Ryan’s vision through, to get to where Ryan needs him to be and wait to make the difference.

Without Taylor on the power play, without him on the bench to yell at them to fight harder, to take risks, they flounder. He isn’t there to challenge them, to force them to keep up, and it’s the end of the season and nothing has turned out the way they wanted it to, and they’re tired.

They do everything they can, but it’s not enough. They win the game, but Ryan and Jordan sit quiet next to one another in the locker room, away from home and lost. Next to one another but further than they’ve ever been.

There’s still a certain satisfaction in knowing that they gave it their all. A bone-deep, aching exhaustion that tells them they tried.

 

-

 

When they get home from Nashville Taylor is waiting up for them, watching highlights from the night’s other games on ESPN.

He turns the tv off when they drag their bags inside and dump them near the door to be dealt with some time that isn’t now.

“You both suck without me,” Taylor says, and Jordan laughs tiredly, this exasperated huff of amusement that grows huge in his chest, light and easy and _nice_.

Jordan shrugs his jacket off and tugs his shirt up out of his pants, toes off his dress shoes and unbuttons the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up over his forearms. He walks over to the couch to touch Taylor, to stand at his side and cup Taylor’s face in his hand. Nothing too big or too much, just something he can have. Taylor leans into the touch and smiles, and Jordan kind of wants to cry again, because he’s home and Taylor is letting him in and he’s so relieved he can’t speak.

Taylor wraps a hand around Jordan’s wrist and pulls him down, doesn’t let go until Jordan is basically straddling Taylor’s lap on the couch, and then he slips his hands warm and familiar up under the back of Jordan’s shirt, and presses his mouth to Jordan’s throat and says,

“Hey, I missed you,” and it sounds like ‘I love you, too.’

Jordan sighs happily and nuzzles the side of Taylor’s face for a second, breathes him in and keeps him close, and then without opening his eyes or looking away from Taylor he reaches for Ryan, and Ryan’s there in a second, holding Jordan’s hand and waiting to be needed, waiting to be lead.

Jordan shifts off Taylor’s lap to sit next to him instead, and pulls Ryan down on his other side, one of their hands in each of Jordan’s so they know that he wants them there, that he isn’t letting go.

“Missed you too, Nugget,” Taylor says quietly, and Ryan smiles and pulls Jordan further into his side so he can tuck his arm around him to touch Taylor, to put his hand on Taylor’s shoulder and leave it there.

“We really do suck without you,” Ryan says, and Jordan can’t tell if he’s saying it to Taylor or to Jordan. Either way, it’s true.

They sit like that for a while, talking about their trip and how Taylor is feeling and a hundred stupid little things that are brought up for no purpose other than to prolong their time sitting here together like this before they’ve gotta get up and go to bed, Taylor and Jordan together but without Ryan.

Eventually Jordan can’t suppress his yawning any longer, and he nearly breaks his own jaw when he stops trying, so he taps out first. He levers himself up off the couch with a hand on each of their knees and when Taylor says ‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ he smiles and leans in and kisses Taylor carefully on the mouth for the first time in days, and it feels so different, so new and big and full of fresh potential that when Jordan pulls away again it seems nothing but totally natural to bend to kiss Ryan the same way, a simple, easy fit of their lips that turns just a little wetter for how Ryan gasps when he does it, and opens his mouth for a second before he’s leaning up and in, cupping a hand around the back of Jordan’s neck and holding him still but not pushing for more.

Jordan laughs when he finally pulls away, because he can’t believe he did that, but it seems okay. More than okay, really.

He wants to ask Ryan to sleep with them that night, just sleep in their bed with him and Taylor, but that feels like too much too soon.

Jordan falls asleep thinking about how maybe this is a good place to start. Maybe naps and goodnight kisses can be enough for all of them until something changes, until Ryan is older and surer and realizes that this isn’t anything Jordan and Taylor can take as lightly as he can.

 

-

 

The next day Jordan is still clearing up after Ryan made them all lunch when Ryan comes up behind him and takes a plate out of his hand, sets it down on the counter and wraps his arms loosely around Jordan’s middle. They’re home alone right now because Taylor left to go hang out with Whits for a couple hours.

Ryan rests his cheek against the back of Jordan’s neck and mumbles sleepily “C’mon, Jordan, nap now, dishes later.”

Jordan closes his eyes and leans back into Ryan for a second, and then he throws the dishcloth onto the counter and lets Ryan lead him away to what Jordan is beginning to think of as ‘their’ room in terms that extend beyond simply him and Taylor.

Jordan goes to the bathroom to wash dish soap off his hands, and when he comes back in Ryan is lying in the middle of the bed, curled up on his side and waiting for Jordan.

Today they don’t bother with the pretense that they’re not going to end up sleeping snugly tucked against one another. When Jordan climbs into bed next to Ryan, they reach for one another at the same time.

Today instead of just waking up in Ryan’s arms, Jordan gets to fall asleep in them too.

Jordan tucks his head in under Ryan’s chin, and dares to let his mouth brush softly against Ryan’s bare chest. Ryan shivers, and Jordan doesn’t think it’s because he’s cold, but he holds him tighter anyway.

 

-

 

On Wednesday evening they fly out to Tampa to take on the Lightning the next day. Taylor comes along because he’s not keen on staying home without them again, and when they get to their hotel Ryan waves Jonesy off in the lobby and follows Taylor and Ryan to their room without a word, taking the bed next to the window like it’s been his all along. It kind of has.

 

-

 

That night Taylor kisses Jordan and Ryan chastely before they all climb into bed, and Jordan feels a little sorry for himself until Ryan pauses next to their bed on his way back from the bathroom. He pushes at Jordan’s shoulder until Jordan rolls over onto his back, and then Ryan cups Jordan’s face in both of his hands and kisses him. Jordan stays still and lets Ryan do whatever he wants, but that resolve is really tested by how Ryan opens his mouth around Jordan’s lower lip and _licks_ over it before he pulls away.

Ryan smiles sweetly at him before he walks away to climb into his own bed, and Jordan sighs a little more thickly than he’d like.

“Your boyfriend is a good kisser,” Ryan says with that same smile in his voice, and Taylor snorts.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Ryan,” Taylor replies, and there’s something so dirty about the way Taylor calls him by his name, not ‘Nuge’ or ‘Nugget’.

Jordan feels like he needs to go and run laps around the hotel corridor or take a cold shower or something.

He fists his hands in Taylor’s shirt and drags him half on top of himself instead, and falls asleep warm and secure and with the thought that the sooner he falls asleep the sooner he gets to wake up and do this all over again tomorrow night.

 

-

 

They’re sitting on the plane ready to go home the next night with a little time to kill before take-off when Ryan’s phone rings. He looks at the display and gets up to go sit by himself at back to take the call, and Taylor takes this as an opportunity.

“I don’t want to change your mind or freak you out about this again, but what are we doing here, Ebs?”

Jordan doesn’t have to ask what he means.

“I don’t know, but I’m not going to change my mind.”

This really isn’t the time or place to talk about this, but they’re hardly ever alone these days and when they are they’re too busy tearing one another’s clothes off to really talk about anything that doesn’t pertain solely to how badly they want one another, and how badly they want Ryan.

“So we … we _are_ doing this?” Taylor asks, and he sounds surprised and hopeful and Jordan smiles.

“I don’t know what this is, Taylor, but … it’s good, yeah? We don’t have to be careful with Ryan if we don’t do anything to hurt him in the first place. So for now I guess we get to let this be whatever easy, ‘buddies’ type thing he thinks it is, and if that gets to be too much for us or if Ryan meets someone then … then we’ll talk about that when it happens. For right now we’re good though, right?”

Taylor frowns and take his phone out of his pocket, switching it off and then flipping it in the air and catching it in his other hand.

“I don’t think Ryan thinks this is like that,” he says, and he sounds disappointed but Jordan can’t tell who or what he’s disappointed by in all of this.

“He’s 18, Taylor. He’s had one boyfriend,” and then because Jordan wants to make sure that they’re all clear about this, he swallows, and says the most painful thing he’s ever had to say.

“He doesn’t love us, Taylor,” he says, and Taylor drops his phone.

Jordan reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder when he bends to retrieve it, and Jordan starts to say that it’s okay, that they’ve got each other, that maybe eventually Ryan’s feelings might change, but Ryan comes back then and interrupts.

“That was Gabe. He’s got a couple days off so he’s coming to visit,” Ryan says, and Jordan doesn’t have to say anything at all.

 

-

 

The three of them are completely silent for the entire plane ride. Taylor stares out the window even though it’s dark out, and Ryan and Jordan read, but neither asks the other what they’re reading, they don’t lean into one another’s space and read over one another’s shoulders until someone gives in first and starts reading aloud.

They simply sit together and for the first time in a while keep their thoughts and their hands to themselves.

 

-

 

When they get back to the apartment Ryan goes straight to his room and unpacks his bags, and Jordan and Taylor dump theirs in their room and ignore them in favor of sitting on the couch and frowning at one another instead.

Ryan comes in wearing a pair of Taylor’s sweatpants that are riding obscenely low on his hips by virtue of the fact that they’re far too big for him, and Jordan looks at Ryan’s hipbones clearly visible between the waistband of his pants and the hem of his t-shirt, and he thinks about pressing his mouth there, hiding wet, toothy kisses in against the smooth, warm stretches of Ryan’s skin over the rise of muscle and bone that Jordan wants to hold in his hands and _have_.

Then Jordan thinks about someone else doing the very same. He thinks about the fact that Gabriel Landeskog already knows Ryan more intimately than they ever will, and how he’s probably going to get to retain that privilege in some road-booty-call capacity that no-one deserves to have for Ryan, because Taylor and Jordan are right there and in love with him always, every minute of every day and not just for now, not just for one night.

Jordan has never known such burning and absolute hatred for someone he actually kind of likes.

Ryan sits down next to them and slouches in his seat, plucks his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping out a text. Probably to ‘Gabe’. Plotting out all the terrible things Ryan is going to let him do to him when he gets into town.

Jordan takes a deep breath and counts to twenty, interspersing every number with a reassuring mental image of Landeskog lying on the ice, writhing in agony after taking a slapshot to the shins, a high stick to the face. On his knees in the crease literally crying about the fact that the Edmonton Oilers just scored eleven goals against his team, every last one of them signed, sealed and personally, devastatingly delivered by Jordan Eberle and Taylor Hall.

It’s a nice image, but not enough, apparently.

“Are you going to hook up with that jerk?” Jordan asks before he knows what he’s saying.

Taylor smiles at him approvingly.

Ryan frowns.

“Do we have to talk about this again?” he asks, and Jordan wants to say ‘yes’. He wants to tell Ryan that they’re going to have to talk about this each and every single time Ryan might for some strange and incorrect reason get it into his head that it’s a good idea to fall into bed with someone that isn’t them.

“No,” he says instead, “we don’t have to talk about it. It’s … not our business.”

“Yes it is,” Ryan says, and Jordan’s heart stops beating, but only for the second it takes him to realize that Ryan means it’s their business because this is their home too. Their home and Ryan’s home and not _their_ home _with_ Ryan, not really, not like it should be.

“You can do whatever you want,” Taylor says, and somehow manages to make it sound like a question and an offer and a hopeful suggestion all in one.

Ryan laughs, and it’s one of the worst things Jordan has ever heard. It’s small and dark and broken and so full of bitter disbelief that Jordan wants to find whoever made Ryan realize he could sound like that and see to it that they never know anything but agony and anguish ever again.

“No I can’t, that’s … jesus. If _only_ ,” Ryan says, and he sounds so old, so jaded.

“Why the hell not?” Taylor demands, like Ryan can and is and should be able to do anything he wants whenever he wants and however he wants, and that’s about right Jordan thinks.

Ryan just shakes his head and looks away, won’t meet either of their eyes.

“What do you want, Ryan?” Taylor asks him quietly, his voice low and serious and packed full of all the things that Jordan feels too.

This is it. If Ryan’s ever going to say it - if it’s ever been true - right here and right now is when he’ll say it and make them happier than they ever thought possible, give them everything they’ve ever wanted.

Jordan doesn’t believe it, he can’t believe it, but he hopes for it anyway. He sits on the edge of the couch and feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and fall to the floor at Ryan’s feet where it’s always been, because this feels _huge_. It feels like something Jordan has been waiting and waiting for, holding out for and always right in the middle of no matter how hard he tried to move on, because it’s Ryan and Jordan loves him and he can’t ever forget that, he can’t ever let that go.

This is it. This is Ryan’s chance to tell them that Jordan’s wrong and Taylor’s right, that this has been everything they’ve wanted it to be all along and it’s theirs, _he’s_ theirs for keeps because he loves them as much as they love him.

“Nothing I can have,” Ryan says instead, and that’s the very definition of what they’re not, so Jordan’s heart falls a hundred storeys down through his chest.

“I want … I want to fit,” Ryan says, his voice small and fragile and kicking its way through Jordan’s ribcage.

“I want to be needed and wanted and to … to find somewhere where I feel safe. I want to wake up in the morning and know that I’m home,” Ryan says, and Jordan wants to tell him that that’s what he has, that’s what they are for him, but he can’t. That’s not the kind of thing you can just tell someone and expect them to believe. That’s something you either know or you don’t. If Ryan doesn’t feel it here … there’s nothing Jordan can say or do to change that. Jordan can’t show Ryan what he doesn’t see.

“You’ll find that,” Taylor says, so determined and sure that Jordan knows Taylor is every bit as broken up right now as he is, because the only thing Jordan can still cling to in this moment is his conviction that Ryan deserves to be happy, even if that’s not what he is with them, even if he wants that from someone else.

“I already did,” Ryan says.

“... with … Gabe?” Jordan has to ask, because he has to know.

Ryan laughs and it makes Jordan feel a little better to hear him sound so genuinely amused by the idea that he might have been in love with Landeskog. Thank god for small mercies.

“God no,” Ryan says, and he smiles for a second before his face turns serious, shuttered off and careful with everything it holds but won’t show them.

“Then who? Why didn’t it work out?” Taylor asks.

“They … they didn’t need me,” Ryan says, and Jordan is wrecked by the way Ryan sounds, hollowed out by the tone of his voice and the way his eyes go huge and wide and suddenly spilling over with everything he won’t tell them - whatever it is that he doesn’t trust them to know. It structures his face like an ache that Jordan knows all too well, and Jordan wants so badly to reach for Ryan, to pull him into his arms and tell him that he’s wrong, because he has to be wrong. Nobody could be loved by Ryan and not need him. Jordan needs him, Jordan _and_ Taylor need him, and Ryan won’t ever love them.

“They were already happy,” Ryan continues, and Jordan has to put an end to this conversation before he says something stupid, before he says something that he means.

“You’ll find it again, Ryan” Jordan says, “and anyone who could be happy without you doesn’t deserve you in the first place, you’re better off without him.”

“I wish it felt like that,” Ryan sighs, and fuck. All this time Ryan has been going through this, is still dealing with it, and they’ve been so caught up in their own feelings for him that they couldn’t see he was hurting. Jordan hates himself, because no matter happens he’ll never be able to bring himself to hate Ryan.

Jordan drags him into a hug and drops a kiss to the top of his head. Taylor wraps his arms around both of them and presses his nose Ryan’s hair. They sit like that for a second and then Ryan is gently fighting them off, pulling away.

“I .. sorry, I just … I can’t, right now, I’m sorry,” he says, getting up and going to his room without looking back, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Jordan and Taylor sit and look at one another, and Jordan shakes his head, tries to clear his head and take breaths that aren’t weak with feelings fighting to take his breath away. He drags Taylor’s arm back up around him and burrows into his side, hiding his face in against Taylor’s shoulder.

Jordan almost wishes he could feel sorry for himself, he nearly wishes he could sit here and feel nothing but the hot, jagged pieces of his broken heart twisting inward and cutting deeper. But try as he might to concentrate on that, all he can think about is how each and every last one of those pieces aches for Ryan instead.

 

-

 

So that’s that. Over and done with. Decided and _gone_.

 

-

 

Landeskog doesn’t end up coming to town after all, and he’s lucky if you ask Jordan, because he’s pretty sure Taylor’s immediate life plans revolve around hunting down and brutally killing everyone who has ever had Ryan be romantically inclined toward them and rewarded that by disappointing or hurting him.

 

Now that they’ve lost Ryan for a good, it’s not a bad plan, Jordan thinks. It sounds kind of satisfying.

 

-

 

Ryan mopes for a day or two, takes the opportunity to lie listlessly around the apartment, dragging himself from room to room like it pains him to move at all when it’s not with the clear purpose of something hockey related and thus his job. He barely eats, barely speaks to them, and he even refuses to nap with Jordan, opting instead to throw himself down into Taylor’s beanbag chair and read ‘The Amber Spyglass’ for what has to be the tenth time at this point. The pages of his copy are worn and dog-eared, and he’s started marking passages to talk to Jordan about as soon as he gets around to reading it himself, but he doesn’t even try to spoiler Jordan today, and it’s a wretched, wretched thing.

It’s terrible to see him like this, but at least he’s still here, at least he isn’t trying to hide from them anymore. As much as it hurts Jordan to see Ryan like this and know that there’s nothing they can do, it’s some small consolation to know that he trusts them with this, that he isn’t afraid to show them how he feels.

 

-

 

Eventually - and predictably - it’s DIY that brings him back.

When he and Jordan get home from practice one day, Taylor is lying in wait armed with a pile of small rectangular boxes and a stack of what looks like photographs. The boxes turn out to reveal some pretty beautiful picture frames, and the stack is compiled of photos of the three of them, some of just Jordan and Ryan or Ryan and Taylor, but most of them feature them all - together.

Hilariously, some of them are clearly images that Taylor found online, pictures taken of the three of them flushed and sweaty and pressed together amid a mess of padding and gloves and sticks, celebrating a goal. Jordan looks at those pictures and wonders how on earth anybody ever sees the three of them together and doesn’t know in an instant that he and Taylor are totally and utterly gone for Ryan, head over heels in love with him. He takes a second to marvel at the fact that in most of them he can’t even tell who has just scored.

Plenty of the pictures look to be ripped from cell phones, some of them he recognizes from his own phone or Ryan’s, lots he remembers Whits taking, including one of Jordan’s personal favorites - one he’d snapped of the three of them sitting together on the plane that first time, squished together and grinning.

The picture frames are made like delicate nests of twisted wire, wound artfully and painted in warm tones of bronze and gold. They’re pretty cool, and this was an awesome idea and Taylor is something of a genius if you ask Jordan because Ryan looks confused and maybe a little anguished when he first sees them, but once Taylor explains that he thought Ryan might want to use these to decorate the shelves he’d set up and had to leave bare in the dining room, Ryan smiles for the first time in days for something other than a goal.

 

-

 

Taylor has to leave a little later to go check in with the team doctors once more before his shoulder surgery - which is scheduled in a couple days - and Jordan goes to take a shower while Ryan gets to work in the dining room.

After Jordan gets out and gets dressed and towel dries his hair he wanders back out to the living room, thinking about maybe asking if Ryan wants to play video games or something, but he stops in his tracks when he sees Ryan standing in the middle of the dining room looking … lost.

He doesn’t want to interrupt, if Ryan is thinking or having a tough time and doesn’t want the company right now, but he can’t stand there and do nothing so Jordan goes and stands in the doorway of the dining room instead, and clears his throat after a minute.

When Ryan looks up at him he tries to smile, but it ends up looking more like he’s about to cry instead.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Jordan asks, wanting to go to Ryan, but not feeling like he should.

“Nothing, I ---”, Ryan has to clear his throat. “I guess I just thought it’d look more … finished or something, once it was done,” he says, gesturing around the room.

The picture frames dotted around do give some sense of completion to the whole thing, Jordan thinks, but Ryan clearly isn’t happy.

“We don’t have to keep it like this,” Jordan says, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans so he doesn’t reach for Ryan. “You could … start over? Or … make it something else? We could make it into a home gym, or we could make it a proper bedroom for you? Somewhere that’s always just been yours?” and it’s a selfish thing to say, but even after everything that’s happened Jordan will never stop trying to find ways to make Ryan stay with them.

Ryan reacts to it pretty badly.

“If you didn’t … If you don’t want me here, you just have to say so, Ebs, I can leave whenever you want me to,” he says, and he’s angry, and Jordan is kind of delighted to see him so fired up about something, but he’s confused about why it’s this and he’s confused about what Ryan thinks he just said, because,

“Ryan, I’m asking you to stay for good. I want you to feel like this really is your home, because that’s how Taylor and I think of it, we need you here,” Jordan says, carefully skirting around the oceans of things he could fall into at every pause in that sentence.

Ryan makes a sound something like a sob and turns away.

“You can’t keep doing this, Jordan,” he says, he _pleads_ , and Jordan is lost.

“Doing what, Ryan? I don’t … you don’t have to --”

Ryan takes a sharp breath and his hands ball into fists by his side.

“You can’t keep making me think I have a shot at this and then changing your mind. It’s not a fucking _game_ to me, and if it is to you … then just say so. If you and Taylor are like temporarily experimenting or whatever, then okay, I can do that, I _have_ to do that, because a stranger is too dangerous and you can’t take that chance, but you’ve got to know that I’d never -- I’d never do anything to hurt you, I couldn’t --”

Jordan has to cut him off there and then, because his mind is reeling and nothing makes sense anymore.

“Ryan we would never treat you like that. It’s not like that, it’s not a game, it’s - Ryan we wouldn’t _do_ that to you,” Jordan swears, because he’d write it in his own blood if he could, if that would make Ryan believe it, but right now all he can do is say it with as much feeling as he can and hope that Ryan sees that he means it.

Ryan looks at him in nothing short of total disbelief and pained fury.

“Cool. Great. Good to know,” he snarls, and Jordan is still reeling. “You don’t want or need anything from me then, I guess. At least now we all know where we stand,” he says, his voice cold and hard and hurting Jordan so fucking much.

Jordan crosses the room in two strides and grabs Ryan. He gets his fingers wrapped tight around Ryan’s biceps and holding him still. Ryan struggles against the hold, twists and tries to break it, but Jordan refuses to let him go and after a minute Ryan stops fighting and slumps forward into Jordan instead, goes boneless in his arms and falls still.

Jordan pushes his hand up into Ryan’s hair, gently cups the curve of his skull in the palm of his hand and just holds on, lets Ryan press his face into Jordan’s neck, and Jordan closes his eyes against the smell of Ryan so close and the feel of him shaking in his arms.

He tucks his face in against Ryan’s and presses his mouth to Ryan’s cheekbone and quietly says,

“We want everything, Ryan. We want it all. We don’t know how to live without you anymore. But we can’t do this, we can’t make you feel like you have to --”

Ryan cuts him off by pushing Jordan up against their dining room wall so hard that the breath is instantly knocked out of him and then never gets a chance to return because Ryan isn’t letting go, he’s stepping right up against Jordan and cupping Jordan’s face with gently shaking hands and leaning in to kiss him, properly and perfectly and thoroughly, groaning the second their lips touch like he’s in pain.

Jordan doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what Ryan needs because for one second all he can think about is what _he_ wants, so he drops his hands to Ryan’s ass and pulls him in, erases every remaining inch of space between them and kisses him like he’ll never get to again, because Ryan is shivering in his arms and still trying to get closer, sucking on Jordan’s lower lip like he never plans on stopping. He’s this very real, very possible, suddenly _attainable_ weight of enthusiastic, convincing heat against Jordan, and his hands are fisted in Jordan’s hair and his tongue is exactly where it’s always supposed to be - in Jordan’s mouth for safe keeping.

But then he’s pulling away, and no, no, no - no thinking, no talking, just this for as long as Jordan can have it before he has to do the right thing - so he slides his hands up under Ryan’s shirt and grips his waist hard - lets his fingers finally find that rise of muscle up over Ryan’s hips and holds on, fights to keep him there.

Ryan breaks the hold.

He distracts Jordan with his mouth and gets Jordan’s fingers tangled with his own, and then he kisses Jordan one last time - this deep, bruising kiss that Jordan feels like a brand - and even if this never happens again at least he’ll never forget that it did, once, and that it was perfect.

Ryan pulls away and pushes Jordan’s hands back against the wall and leans his forehead in against Jordan’s. He looks at Jordan in a way that would ruin a lesser man, and he gently shakes his head, his hands going limp against Jordan’s desperate grip.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Jordan can’t. He can’t … not again. Not for real. Not now. Not after this.

“I’m so sorry, but I can’t stop,” Ryan says, and Jordan is lost all over again.

“I love you, and I love Taylor, and I don’t know how not to,” Ryan says, and Jordan is found.

 

-

 

Jordan reels. His head falls back against the wall with a soft thump, but his hands stay firm and sure on Ryan’s hips, clutching at him with a kind of desperation that Jordan himself is afraid of for the very first time. Ryan closes his eyes and presses his mouth to to Jordan’s cheekbone, and when he pulls away and looks at Jordan, Jordan’s heart breaks all over again. Ryan looks at him like he’s really _looking_ at him, like he wants Jordan to see him. There’s no clouded looks, no deliberate move to turn away, nothing hidden or lost between them. Ryan rests his forehead against Jordan’s again, rubs the tip of his nose in against the side of Jordan’s and says it again.

“I love you,” Ryan says, and it’s not a declaration.

“I love you, Jordan,” Ryan says, and it’s a confession.

It’s everything Jordan wants to hear, but he still can’t let himself believe it. He closes his eyes and swallows, lets himself have one moment when Ryan loves him and he can have that, and then he does what needs to be done.

“Ryan … you’re eighteen years old. This is your first real apartment. It’s … it’s probably normal to develop some feelings for your roommates and you could mistake that for --”

Ryan shakes his head again, his forehead still pressed to Jordan’s and Jordan feels it when Ryan takes a shaky breath.

“Don’t do that. Please don’t. Tell me that you don’t feel the same way, but don’t tell me that I don’t know how I feel.”

Ryan is still so _close_ , he’s spilling his heart for Jordan and he’s not moving away, not shutting himself off and Jordan wants to draw him in, wants to wrap himself around Ryan and stay like this, get Taylor home, get Taylor here and never let either of them go again.

Jordan takes a deep breath and tries to keep it together, struggles hard to make Ryan see, “I can’t hurt you, I won’t let us do that to you. You’re young and you … you’d have to know what you’re getting into here, you’d have to know that it wouldn’t be for a while, or … we’re not messing around, here.”

Jordan feels better for having said it. He feels like he can breathe again, and he’s not exactly looking forward to spending the next however many years standing by and watching Ryan run around figuring out what he wants and whether or not that’s them, but this way they get to be honest about it, this way Jordan gets to be by Ryan’s side for that even if he can’t make him want to stay there, not yet, not the way Jordan and Taylor need him.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” Ryan says, and Jordan gasps.

“Say it,” Ryan insists, pressing his cheek against Jordan’s, hiding his face against the side of Jordan’s and holding his breath.

“Ryan, I don’t …” Jordan wants to say it. He wants to mean it.

“I can’t,” he says instead, because he can’t tell another lie.

“So don’t. Don’t ever,” Ryan says, and he shouldn’t talk like that, he shouldn’t give Jordan that kind of hope.

They stay like that, pressed together from cheekbone to chest bone to hips to knees, their feet tangled together, breathing against one another and _staying_ until Ryan pulls away. He doesn’t go far, just allowing enough space between their bodies for him to wiggle his phone out of his pocket. Jordan watches his face, can’t look away from it even when Ryan looks down to scroll through something on his screen, but he lifts his head and looks at Jordan when he puts the phone to his ear.

“Taylor, you need to come home,” Ryan says, eyes blazing and determined when he says it.

“No, I’m fine. Jordan is too. We just need you to come home,” he says after a minute, after Jordan hears Taylor’s voice, tinny and alarmed, ask if something is wrong.

“See you soon,” Ryan says before he hangs up, and then they’re left alone again, all tangled up in this and left to wait.

Jordan feels like maybe he should move away, or gently push Ryan away, not because he wants to, but because that seems like the thing to do. But when he starts to - when he shifts against the wall and starts to stand straighter, to move out of how he’s slumped in against Ryan - Ryan holds him tighter.

“Nap?” he asks, and Jordan nearly laughs, because that’s ridiculous. He couldn’t sleep right now if his life depended on it. But he looks at the smile in Ryan’s eyes and he knows that Ryan knows that. A little while spent lying next to Ryan while he looks at Jordan like that is nothing Jordan will ever say no to. Not until Taylor comes home and they sort this out and set it aside for good, at least.

“Yeah,” Jordan says, and almost winces, because his voice is so soft and full, and it’s saying things he didn’t mean it to. Ryan takes his hand again, though, and Jordan trusts him to know the things that he doesn’t want to hear yet without holding it against Jordan.

 

-

 

So this is it. This is the end.

Jordan can’t bring himself to be miserable, not yet. He forces himself to focus on this moment, this one afternoon, because he never wants to forget it and he’d never forgive himself for moping too hard to enjoy it while it lasts.

He throws caution to the wind and drops his shirt on the floor, on top of Ryan’s and next to the small pile of their jeans. They climb into bed together like this for the last time, neither of them wearing anything more than boxers for the first time. They lie facing one another in the center of the bed, and Jordan looks at Ryan and wishes he was stronger. He wishes he was strong enough to reach out and take, or strong enough to not want to. Ryan is gorgeous. He’s bright eyed and _happy_ , lying next to Jordan like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, smiling at him and reaching for Jordan’s hand again, and Jordan would even take being simply strong enough to close his eyes or look away right now.

He pulls their joined hands to his mouth and seals kisses to each of Ryan’s knuckles instead.

“One day, maybe, when you … when you know … when you didn’t feel like --”

“When I didn’t feel like there was somewhere else I’d rather be? Maybe someone else I’d rather be with? How about when I couldn’t deal with being in love with both of you at once? When I was terrified that I’d come between you? Hurt you? When I waited months and months for it to pass, for it to go away, because I’d rather be alone, I’d rather be without you than do anything that would hurt either of you?”

Ryan doesn’t look at Jordan as he says it. He watches their hands instead, watches how Jordan’s hand tightens around his when he says the things that Jordan has felt. But he looks at Jordan now.

“I’ve thought about it all. I’ve tried to get past it. I thought we could be friends, the three of us. I knew - I knew from the very beginning that I couldn’t live without you - but I thought I could settle for living here as your friend, as your roommate and your teammate and nothing else. And if that’s what you and Taylor want, then I’ll find a way to be okay with that, but I can’t lie about it anymore, Jordan. I can’t let it go without telling you that I want it, first. Tell me no, but don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m asking for,” he says, staring at Jordan, his face so open, so honest and pained but _hopeful_.

Jordan knows he’s supposed to wipe that away. He knows he should want to see Ryan hurt by Jordan saying ‘no’. He knows that’s what he’s supposed to do.

Except … maybe that’s not what he’s supposed to do at all. Maybe all this time he’s been so caught up in knowing what he’s supposed to do that he didn’t notice when that changed - when the right thing to do became the best thing for each of the three of them, and everything that they want.

“Are you sure?” he finds himself asking Ryan, and Ryan’s answer will tell him what he needs to hear, Jordan trusts that now.

Ryan smiles at him. This small, solemn smile that takes Jordan’s breath away, because sometimes he forgets that Ryan isn’t a rookie, he’s not a kid, he’s no less than them. He’s more, really. As responsible as Jordan without being as serious, smarter than both of them combined, probably. When Jordan stops to look at Ryan, to see him just as he is right here in front of him instead of looking away to remind himself of the image of Ryan that he’s built up in his head - the one he looks to to reinforce his decision that this was how things had to be - he remembers that Ryan takes care of them more than they take care of him. That they need him, and they trust him.

Jordan trusts him with this, now.

“More sure than I’ve ever been of anything,” Ryan says, and that’s all Jordan needs.

Jordan curls his free hand around Ryan’s neck, uses his thumb to tilt Ryan’s face up to his, and kisses him carefully on the mouth, trying to say that he’s sorry and that he’s sure too and that everything is going to be okay, all of that all at once and nothing rushed.

Ryan laughs softly when he pulls away, delighted until he grows serious again.

“Are you sure? What about Taylor? Is he … this is the three of us, right?” and it sounds like he’s asking about more than just Taylor, more than whether or not it’s fair.

Jordan kisses the palm of Ryan’s hand instead, this time, and then stretches across the slight distance between them to press a kiss to the tip of Ryan’s nose too, because he’s there. Because Jordan can.

“The three of us,” Jordan says, a promise.

“And you’re sure?” Ryan presses, “You’re sure that’s … that I’m … that you want that to work?”

“We don’t ‘want it to work’, Ryan. We need you. We _love_ you,” Jordan says, and he only realizes when Ryan’s eyes widen that that’s the first time he’s said it, that’s the first time Ryan has heard it. That seems totally absurd to Jordan. It’s … it’s so true, and it’s been true for such a long time, and he can’t believe he didn’t say it sooner.

“We’re in love with you,” Jordan says in a rush.

“Taylor is in love with you. I’m in love with you,” he says, and Ryan takes a huge breath. When he lets it go again he trembles, and Jordan pulls him into his arms, pulls him in so they’re touching everywhere and when he does, the tremble is soothed away. Ryan goes still and pliant in his arms, ducking his head to hide his face between Jordan’s shoulder and the sheets, pressing his mouth to Jordan’s skin.

Ryan pulls away eventually, rolls back a little so they’re sharing a pillow and looking into one another’s eyes again, their hands still joined.

“Yeah?” he asks, and it’s the first time he’s ever sounded really truly unsure, with them.

Jordan wants to gather him up again, wants to hold him till he _feels_ it, but more than that he wants to see the look on Ryan’s face when he finally believes it. So he shakes his head fondly, scoots back away from Ryan and crooks a finger at him. Ryan makes a confused face and follows, not noticing that Jordan has stopped moving until Ryan has to brace himself over Jordan on one elbow to prevent them both from falling over the edge of the bed. Perfect.

Jordan reaches up and brushes Ryan’s bangs back out of his eyes, and holds Ryan’s face in his hand.

“I love you,” Jordan says, and it’s the truest thing he’s said since the first time he told Taylor the same thing.

Ryan reacts - predictably - shly. He tries to hide his face in against Jordan’s palm, but Jordan won’t let him. He takes Ryan’s face in both hands, and says it again.

“I’m in love with you, Ryan.” It’s like a song this time. Easy and familiar. Ryan laughs.

“Okay I get it,” he says, rolling his eyes, but he’s flushed and his eyes are somehow even brighter, and he looks … loved. He looks the way Jordan feels about him, the way Jordan feels because of him.

“We’re going to take such good care of you,” Jordan promises, hands gentle on Ryan’s face so Ryan can lean in and kiss him. Jordan folds his arms up around Ryan’s neck and pulls him down, groans into Ryan’s mouth when Ryan lets his weight settle carefully over him, his hands going to Jordan’s waist and sending shivers skittering up along Jordan’s spine.

Ryan kisses Jordan like he knows him, no hint of hesitation in his tongue or in his teeth, and Jordan loves him for that - loves him for a thousand things besides.

 

-

 

And that’s how Taylor finds them. Jordan on his back in their bed, with Ryan braced between his spread thighs, doing his damndest to make Jordan lose his mind for nothing but the touch of his mouth and hands, and very very close to succeeding.

Taylor, in his ever perfect timing, chooses then to interrupt.

“Is this like … is it my birthday? Are you … did one of you get traded? Did _I_ get traded? If this is a going away gift, thanks and all, but you can keep it, because I’m going nowhere without the both of you.”

He’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb, car keys still in his hand and his shoes still on. That phone call might have been a little much, but it did the job, Jordan thinks. He smiles up at Taylor from underneath Ryan, and he can tell from the way Taylor smirks and shakes his head that he’s really not getting far in his mission to not look about as smug as he possibly could right now.

“Hey, we … I … Ryan … Ryan has something to tell you,” Jordan settles on.

Ryan grins down at him and then sits up, going to his knees over Jordan and looking over at Taylor.  
“Hi,” Ryan says, “I love you.”

It’s not the method Jordan would have gone with, but honestly Ryan seems to know best when it comes to these things. He’s done in one afternoon what Jordan was about to spend a lifetime talking himself out of.

Taylor laughs, loud and bright. He comes to stand next to the bed, and ruffles a hand through Ryan’s hair, pulling him in and dropping a kiss on the top of Ryan’s head. He drops to his knees and leans in to kiss Jordan, breathing a quiet “hey” to him before he rests his head on Jordan’s chest and looks up at Ryan.

“You do?” he asks, and he’s not really asking at all. Jordan is proud of them. He’s proud of Ryan for being brave enough to give them this, and he’s proud of Taylor for knowing to take it.

“Mhmm,” Ryan nods, and then he’s kissing Taylor and shifting on top of Jordan, trying to drag his boxers down without pulling away from Taylor’s mouth, and Jordan is laughing, half-heartedly pretending to swat Ryan’s hands away and trying to act like he isn’t rendered totally useless by the sight of Ryan and Taylor kissing, but it’s a stretch and they all know it.

They’re together, and they all know exactly where they stand.

 

-

 

“How did this _happen_?” Taylor asks, once they’ve stripped him of his clothes and lured him down onto the bed with them.

Ryan raises his head from where he’s busied himself with the task of dragging Taylor’s boxers down with his teeth, and when he rests his chin on Taylor’s pelvis and looks up at them from underneath his bangs and smirks, Jordan has to turn his face into Taylor’s shoulder and close his eyes and learn how to breathe all over again.

Taylor pushes both hands into Ryan’s hair and tilts his face up, gently sweeping his thumbs up along the line of Ryan’s jaw and looking at him in wonder, looking at him like he can’t believe he’s real. Jordan smiles.

“Ryan fixed it,” Jordan says simply, because that’s exactly what happened.

But Ryan shakes his head and rises up onto his knees over Taylor so he can stretch to reach Jordan’s mouth, to kiss him soft and sweet. Jordan lets his eyes slip shut and gets used to the weight of Ryan’s mouth caught against his, the way it feels even better when he gets to lie next to Taylor and know that Ryan is here and he’s not going anywhere. Kissing him isn’t a chance, now, it’s not a once off or a lucky break or something that they’ll have to explain later. It’s not something he has to feel guilty about wanting anymore. Jordan tips his chin up and touches his tongue to Ryan’s lip, licks over the spit slick swell of it and teases his tongue up into Ryan’s mouth, breathes a sharp breath in through his nose when Ryan’s mouth just opens right up for him, easy and warm and inviting.

“Are you playing favorites already? Have I become the odd man out in my three-person relationship on the day that it started? Because that’s not nice. You’re hurting my feelings right now.”

Jordan doesn’t know which one of them Taylor is talking to, but he knows it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t mean it anyway. Sharing is caring, though, so Jordan laughs against Ryan’s lips and makes himself pull away even though he really, really doesn’t want to.

“Sorry, sorry. I …” Jordan starts to explain that he can’t be expected to help it, but he’s interrupted by Taylor grabbing a hold of Ryan’s hips and rolling them over, getting Ryan on his back underneath him and grinning over at Jordan like he totally gets it before he leans in and gets busy making out with Ryan himself. Jordan figures he’s forgiven.

He’s more than happy to just watch them, to lie there next to them holding onto the hand that Ryan reaches for him with, and watching the way Taylor kisses Ryan harder than he has yet - kisses him deep and desperate in ways that Jordan has tried to keep a lid on so far because he knows that if gives in to all the ways he’s wanted Ryan for months now then he’ll lose the run of himself and this will all be over far quicker than he wants it to be. Taylor isn’t exactly known for his patience, so Jordan isn’t surprised to see him finally take what he’s wanted when it’s offered up. Jordan’s surprised and pretty delighted to see how Ryan’s hands go rough and commanding in response, though, tilting Taylor’s face the way he wants it and fisting in his hair and clutching the beginnings of slight, tender bruises into his hips and biceps.

How Taylor manages to drag himself from that Jordan will never know, but he does, and it’s to catch Ryan’s hands and hold them down against the pillows, caught up on either side of his head and not letting him move.

Ryan pouts and bucks his hips instead and Taylor gives him a look that starts off as mock-disapproving but ends up looking a lot more like pleased, encouraged pride before he turns to Jordan.

“This … we _are_ all on the same page, here, right? Ryan’s boner is pretty encouraging against my thigh right now, but this …” Taylor stops and looks down at Ryan.

“You know that this is for good, right? For keeps?” Taylor sounds earnest and young and hopeful - things Jordan doesn’t often associate with his fierce and ever-confident boyfriend - but it’s fitting here, he thinks. It makes Jordan’s heart swell to hear Taylor ask, to hear how deeply and truly he means and wants this.

Ryan twists his wrists in Taylor’s grip just enough to get it loose enough for him to thread his fingers through Taylor’s instead, and then he smiles and nods and says “if you’ll have me,” and Jordan can’t deal with that kind of self-depreciation right now, not coming from Ryan when he’s in their bed, here at last. Jordan throws Taylor a quick look that he hopes conveys instruction to follow his lead on this, and then he tucks himself in against Ryan’s side and kisses him on the cheek.

“Remember that day you made us go to Ikea and it was the worst thing that ever happened to anyone?”

Ryan turns to look at him and laughs.

“I maybe remember the day I changed your life by making you take me to Ikea, is that what you’re thinking of? That day? One of the most memorable of your entire life to date?”

Jordan sighs, put upon, but he can’t help returning Ryan’s grin. Every day he gets to spend with Ryan and Taylor is the best and they all know it.

“Anyway. You remember how you came over in the middle of the night and crawled up onto this bed and lay here next to me until I woke up enough to remember that I didn’t totally hate you? That was when I knew. I’d had feelings for you for forever by then, but that morning … lying next to you in the dark, neither of us saying anything … I looked at you and I knew that I was in love with you.”

Ryan looks between the two of them, glancing back and forth at Jordan and Taylor like he’s waiting for one of them to laugh or say that this is a joke.

“But that … that was months ago. That was … before I got injured. Before I moved in.”

Jordan nods and kisses Ryan’s shoulder.

“Yep.”

Ryan looks up at Taylor.

“And you were okay with that?”

Taylor’s mouth quirks up on one side and he leans down to kiss Jordan, squeezing his hip in reassurance. When he pulls away again he shifts right back on his knees, sitting on Ryan’s hips now and grinding his ass back against Ryan’s dick because he’s a merciless tease like that and they really wouldn’t have him any other way.

“I couldn’t really not be okay with it when I was already in love with you,” he says, and Ryan gasps quietly.

“Since when?”

“Since the bookshelves,” Taylor says, and Jordan laughs, because he doesn’t think they’ll ever not classify the early and pre stages of this relationship with anything other than references to Ryan’s home improvements.

“You came over and built these shelves and then you put yours and Jordan’s books on it and after you left I stood there looking at it and I was jealous. I wanted … I didn’t want to be left out. I was jealous of you and _because_ of you and I wanted you here with us all the time, always, and I … I was in love with you. I’m in love with you,” Taylor says, and he has one hand working its way up inside Jordan’s boxers and the other tripping his fingers up along Ryan’s abs, and he’s smiling at them both in this way that’s somehow kind of shy but totally shameless at the same time.

Ryan wraps an arm around Jordan’s shoulders and pushes his hand up into where his hair is longest at the top of his head. He holds him close and holds Taylor’s hand still against his stomach and just beams at the two of them.

“What about you?” Taylor asks, and Jordan hadn’t even thought to ask. Ryan’s smile turns wry.

“Before that,” is all he says, and Jordan leans up on one elbow to look down at him properly.

“Before the bookshelves!?” he asks, disbelieving, because that means that this entire time Jordan has been driving himself insane with worry over being in love with someone who was already in love with him. He’s such an idiot.

“Those were bookshelves born of love,” Ryan says, and it falls flat as a joke because he means it, because he says it and he looks at them like he’s embarrassed about it, like there’s any reason to be, and Jordan won’t allow that.

“I knew you were smarter than the two of us put together,” he says, and Ryan blushes.

Taylor smoothes the pads of his thumbs up under the flush across Ryan’s cheekbones.

“Seriously, you win,” he assures Ryan, and Ryan laughs at that. But then he stops, and he looks at Jordan and runs his fingers through his hair, dragging it up into that soft spikes that he smiles at before he flattens them down again. He glances up at Taylor, who is watching them with such fierce fondness in his eyes that it makes Jordan’s heart beat full and fast in his chest, and Ryan presses a kiss to his forehead and says,

“Yeah, I do.”

It’s the first time Jordan has ever heard Ryan admit a victory, and do so with clear pride. It makes him think about all the ways Ryan is, here with them, how he’s honest and brazen and insistent and scolding and how there’s nothing left for him to hide anymore, nothing that they have to keep from him.

There’s nothing left to say.

Jordan leans in to kiss Ryan and he isn’t careful about it this time, he kisses Ryan’s mouth open and pliable and then he coaxes Ryan’s tongue into his mouth and sucks on it with cruel little jolts that have Ryan whimpering softly and reaching for him with both hands. When he pulls away Ryan tries to follow, drags his gaze from Jordan’s mouth with a look of pure betrayal.

Jordan glances up at Taylor, whose attention Jordan can feel like a hot and heavy caress and when he looks up Taylor’s hands are white knuckled around his own kneecaps in his efforts not to interrupt.

Taylor blinks and raises one eyebrow at Jordan.

“You like watching, Taylor?” Jordan asks, and he’s going somewhere with this.

Taylor reaches out and takes Jordan and Ryan’s chins in each of his hands, brushing his thumbs up over their lower lips. Jordan purses his lips and curls his tongue around Taylor’s thumb. The muscle in Taylor’s jaw jumps.

“Yeah,” he says, and the word is ancient - aged and rusted with want.

“Want to watch Ryan fuck me?” Jordan asks, and Ryan says ‘oh god’ and lies back down, lifts his face to the ceiling and closes his eyes, his throat bared and rippling around a swallow. Jordan smirks and turns back to Taylor.

“Well?”

Taylor reaches for Jordan and kisses him all tongue and carefully nipping teeth, and then he trails his kiss-flushed lips along the line of Jordan’s jaw, pressing his face against the side of Jordan’s.

“Yeah, _yes_ ,” Taylor says, and it sounds like the first time he’s ever said the word - the only time it’s ever really mattered.

“Cool,” Jordan says, falling back down against the pillows and grinning up at Taylor, probably looking already blissed out, all gap-toothed smile and doped flush. He slaps Taylor lightly on the ass and says “go find condoms.”

Taylor kisses them both simply and softly and then climbs off the bed to begin his search.

Jordan rolls up onto his side and wraps an arm around Ryan’s waist.

“Is this okay with you?” he asks, and Ryan takes a deep breath, looks like he’s struggling to speak for a second.

“You … I … with … yes?” Ryan says finally, and Jordan looks forward to leaving him inarticulate a lot in future.

“Are you sure?” Jordan asks, and Ryan looks at him like he’s insane. His brow furrows and his mouth sets in this confused, stern little pout. He’s adorable, and he’s so fucking _attractive_ and Jordan has wanted him for so long. Ryan’s still a little unsure of himself, but he fights so hard to show them every single ounce of conviction that he finds, and Jordan can’t wait to spend years and years helping him build those up. In the meantime, he plans on having a lot of fun with all the ways he can still make Ryan shake.

Jordan trails his hand up along Ryan’s side and then slowly down his chest, lightly drawing his fingers along Ryan’s abs and stomach and drifting teasingly down along the cut of Ryan’s hips. Ryan watches Jordan’s face the whole time, doesn’t look away from him to follow the movement of his hand and there’s something completely maddening about watching Ryan’s reactions shift across his face - watching his eyes widen when Jordan’s thumb finds his nipple, and his mouth go soft, his breathing shallow when Jordan digs his fingernails in against his hipbone. Ryan never once looks away. He offers Jordan his every reaction, doesn’t hide a single thing. His face is completely open, eyes shining, everything Jordan makes him feel clear to see; shown and shared easily and absolutely. By the time Jordan’s hand is flirting with the waistband of Ryan’s boxers Ryan is looking at him with such fast faltering composure, such cloying _want_ that Jordan has to lean in and cinch their mouths together when he pushes his hand down into Ryan’s boxers and curls his fingers around Ryan’s dick.

Jordan slips his tongue into Ryan’s mouth and works his hand slowly, firmly along the length of Ryan’s cock, feels him grow even harder in his hand. Jordan pulls away and twists his wrist, fingers the head of Ryan’s cock on an upstroke and clenches his jaw at the way Ryan pins him with a hot look and bites down on his own lip in wrecked distress.

“Still haven’t answered the question,” Jordan reminds Ryan, moving his hand slower and letting his grip go a little slacker, just getting used to the weight and feel, “are you sure you want to fuck me? Because we can do something else, whatever you want.”

Ryan grabs Jordan’s wrist and tugs it out of his boxers, pulling Jordan’s arm around his waist again. He nuzzles in against Jordan’s jaw, kissing the hinge and then scraping his teeth along Jordan’s jaw bone, making him shiver. He kisses Jordan on the mouth, just once, and when Jordan opens his eyes again Ryan is looking at him like he’s something cherished.

“You’re what I want,” Ryan says, hiking one leg up over Jordan and shifting to sit warm and solid over Jordan’s hips, “You and Taylor and the three of us together, always.”

Jordan’s heart thumps up under his ribs and there’s lust and pleasure and _love_ searing hot through him. Ryan overwhelms him in every single way, and Jordan wonders if he’s destined to spend the rest of his life totally overcome by everything he feels for Ryan and Taylor. That seems like the kind of time frame he can work with.

“Always,” Jordan repeats, resigning himself to being completely lost to this moment, wondering if Ryan and Taylor will make fun of him if he cries or something.

His concern seems warranted when Taylor comes back a second later and sighs at them.

“You’ve been talking about your feelings this entire time, haven’t you,” he says, sliding a hand up into the short hair at the back of Ryan’s neck.

“Not that I don’t have all kinds of feelings for both of you too, but can we spare a passing thought for everything you’ve put me through by over-thinking every single little thing and getting it so wrong that I’ve missed out on months of this?”

He kind of has a point. Jordan sits up and hooks his chin over Ryan’s shoulder, presses a kiss to Taylor’s wrist in apology.

“Let us make it up to you, eh?”

 

-

 

Jordan feels caught in the middle, framed by the two of them and _kept_ in a way that he could really get used to.

He’s on his back in the middle of the bed with a pillow tucked up under his hips, his thighs spread apart up over Taylor’s waist where he kneels between Jordan’s legs, and Ryan lying on his side next to him. Jordan’s breath hitches against Ryan’s mouth when Taylor sinks two lubed fingers into him, and Ryan pulls away to watch.

Taylor works for the attention.

He carefully adds a third finger, twisting so he can crook his fingertips upwards inside Jordan, and Jordan’s hips jerk off off the bed, his back arching when Taylor finds his prostate.

“Fuck!” Jordan groans, turning his face into Ryan’s neck, setting his teeth against the tendon there.

Taylor doesn’t let up, gently stretching his fingers apart as he works them in and out of Jordan. He bends to press a kiss above his knuckles and drags his mouth up over Jordan’s balls, tonguing up along the underside of Jordan’s dick and when Jordan pulls away to look Taylor is paused with his mouth open over the head of Jordan’s cock, one eyebrow raised.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jordan says, and Taylor laughs but sits back. He’s still idly stretching Jordan, and Jordan knows from experience that Taylor will do so all day if they let him. He loves this part, he loves getting Jordan wet and messy with lube almost as much as he loves getting Jordan slick with his own come and then licking it out of him. Maybe later, Jordan thinks.

“Why not?” Taylor asks, tilting his head to look pointedly at Jordan. Because he also loves dragging admissions out of Jordan when he’s like this, probably because Taylor knows that no-one is as totally shameless as he is. He’s also totally wrong if he thinks Jordan is holding back right now. He’s got Taylor’s fingers in his ass and Ryan’s mouth moving aimlessly up across his throat and he’s giving this all he’s got.

Jordan leans up to catch Ryan’s mouth with his own and once he’s got his attention he pulls away just far enough - still holding Ryan’s gaze - to say,

“Because I want to wait until Ryan is inside me, I want to come while he’s fucking me.”

Taylor’s fingers still, and Ryan pauses, his expression momentarily frozen. And then Taylor is laughing, his ribs shaking with it between Jordan’s knees, and the hand that Ryan had been gently moving through Jordan’s hair fists where it’s longest, tugging Jordan’s head back so Ryan can look at him, his gaze trailing up Jordan’s throat, pausing at his mouth, going hot when he meets Jordan’s eyes.

“Hurry up, Taylor,” he says, and Jordan shivers at the sound of his voice, low and urgent.

Taylor takes another minute, waits until Jordan is rocking his hips down against Taylor’s hand until he pulls his fingers free, leaning forward to kiss Ryan when he passes him a condom.

And then Ryan is taking Taylor’s place, running his hands up the insides of Jordan’s thighs. Jordan shivers and it’s only half because of Ryan’s touch, gentle and reverent. It’s happening, his is finally actually happening and Jordan’s freaking out a little bit, starting to fall apart already. He looks at Ryan, his hands braced on Jordan’s hips so he can lean over him and drop quick, wet kisses on every part of Jordan he can reach, and Jordan has dreamed of this. He’s woken up so many afternoons curled around Ryan, haunted by dreams of his lips, the sweet dip of his dimples, the long pale line of his throat, the divot of his collarbones, the planes of his chest, the rise and hollows of his hips. And now he’s here, and Jordan gets to touch, gets to see and hear and _feel_ , and it’s a lot, it’s kind of huge.

Taylor draws him out of his reverie. He stretches out next to Jordan and wraps an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close and leaning his head in against Jordan’s.

“Happy?” Taylor asks, the word humming against the corner of Jordan’s mouth.

Jordan turns to press his lips to Taylor’s without taking his eyes off Ryan.

“Yeah,” Jordan says, “I think we will be.”

 

-

 

But a moment later, Jordan isn’t so sure.

Because the thing is, Ryan looks a little shaky about this whole thing himself. His hands tremble as he tears open the condom and gingerly rolls it on, and he bites his own lip hard enough to draw blood when Taylor reaches to slick him up with lube. And then there’s a pause, a split second when he drags his gaze away from Jordan for what feels like the first time in hours, and Jordan is kind of terrified that he’s changed his mind, that this really is too much or too soon or not what he wants.

He sits up a little, groping for Ryan’s hand in the sheets, and when he finds it and laces their fingers together Ryan looks up at him. He looks to Taylor first, and smiles this small little lopsided grin at him, and then he looks at Jordan.

And when he does, Jordan doesn’t think they’ll be happy. He realizes that they already are. They’ve all wanted this for so long, and they’re finally ready to let themselves believe that they can have it - that this is it. Them.

Jordan beams up at him, and Ryan closes his eyes and groans.

“You need to stop. Don’t look at me like that,” he begs.

“Like what?” Jordan asks - genuinely perplexed.

Ryan shakes his head and tips forward so he can hide his face in against Jordan’s ribs.

“You’re both looking at me like you love me,” Ryan says, the words muffled, “that’s kind of … a lot of pressure.”

Taylor tilts Ryan’s face up until he’s looking at them.

“We do love you,” he says, and Ryan sighs, but Taylor continues.

“You two are way better at this whole … articulating emotions thing, but … you’re already what we want and need, Ryan. Right now, just like this. Not because you try to be, and not in ways that you need to work to be. Just being here with us, that’s right. That’s it. That’s … everything,” Taylor says, and it’s simple and it’s honest and it’s true.

Ryan turns his head to look at Taylor.

“So you don’t think I’m dumb for being nervous about this? You’re not gonna be disappointed if this is maybe weird and awkward? Because it might be, it probably definitely will be, because you’ve been sleeping together forever and I’m new at this and at doing this and having feelings and --”

Jordan has to cut him off, otherwise Ryan might keep rambling until he passes out.

Jordan kisses him softly.

“You’re adorable,” he says, and Ryan pouts, evidently unaware of how that does absolutely nothing to disprove Jordan’s point.

“We love you,” Jordan says, and Ryan sighs again, but it’s softer, fuller, _happy_ and then Ryan all fluid movement, crawling up kneel over Jordan and taking Jordan’s face in his hands.

“I want this. I want it - us - so bad. Just … tell me I’ve got another shot if it isn’t as great as it could be the first time,” he says, looking down at Jordan with anxious eyes.

Jordan rolls his eyes in response, but Taylor beats him to the punch.

“No, Ryan,” Taylor says gravely, mouthing along the line of Ryan’s shoulder, “no do-overs. This is a shoot or pass kind of situation and if you can’t step up then we’re going to have to ask you to leave. This apartment, the team, Edmonton. Maybe even Canada.”

Ryan laughs and turns his face into Taylor’s, kisses him with a smile.

“I hear the Blackhawks need a second line center.”

Jordan stretches up so he can suck a bite around Ryan’s left nipple.

“Red really isn’t your color,” Jordan says after Ryan’s gasp, “not unless it’s Team Canada red and you’re wearing it next to me and Taylor.”

“Forewarning: Jordan gets a little possessive sometimes,” Taylor says, smirking at Jordan in this totally obnoxious way that promises many many nights to come when Taylor plans to exploit this fact now that he has Ryan to play with, Ryan to drive Jordan _insane_ with.

“Oh yeah?” Ryan asks, tipping his head back to lick and bite at Taylor’s mouth, not even really kissing him properly, just making a mess and making a show of it.

Jordan is totally screwed.

 

-

 

And then he really is.

Ryan’s hands shake as he gently gets Jordan’s thighs as spread as he needs them, but he doesn’t look away from Jordan and something he sees on Jordan’s face must steady him somehow. He slowly - too slowly - pushes his cock inside Jordan, and stills completely, his hands firm and sure up under Jordan’s knees, his hips snug against Jordan’s ass.

When he bends Jordan nearly in half to lean up over him it changes the angle, seats him deeper still, and Jordan has to close his eyes. It’s too much. It’s _Ryan_.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, tone terse and concerned and Jordan grits his teeth.

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. He eases his left leg down from Ryan’s shoulder and wraps it up around Ryan’s waist instead, and then he can see the line of Ryan’s body, the sight of him between Jordan’s legs, his hands and his eyes on Jordan. Jordan’s the one shaking now.

“Move, please,” he grates out, rising up onto his elbows so he can kiss Ryan. When Ryan pulls away and sits back to do as he’s been told, Jordan reaches for Taylor instead, strains up for his mouth and nearly sobs into it when Taylor brushes his tongue down into Jordan’s mouth just as Ryan carefully pulls out and then pushes back in in one long, firm stroke. Jordan whimpers then, pants up into the kisses he’s trading with Taylor.

Ryan feels different inside him, the stretch of his waist thinner than Taylor’s is, easier for Jordan to curve his legs around and keep close. His hands are gentler against Jordan than Taylor’s are, but it doesn’t feel like he’s nervous or apprehensive. He runs the palm of his hands up and down the length of Jordan’s body, touching him everywhere, pausing to push his thumbs up under the ridges of Jordan’s collarbones, gripping tight around Jordan’s hips and holding him still. Ryan isn’t nervous, he’s tender. He’s infatuated. He’s in love.

Taylor’s getting off on it.

His gaze is unwavering, hungry and hot. His hand on his cock is almost torturously slow, drawing it out even against the grimace of pained pleasure on his face because he likes it when it hurts, he loves when it gets to be just a little too much and not nearly enough. Jordan loves that he knows that about him. He loves being able to torture him with this.

“C’mon, Ryan. Harder,” Jordan asks, encourages, and Taylor swears next to him.

Ryan laughs. He hikes Jordan’s leg higher around his waist and looks down at him and _laughs_ and then he fucks Jordan like he’s doing him a favor. He fucks him hard enough to fill the room with the sound of it, the tender skin on the backs of Jordan’s thighs heating and starting to sting against the slap of Ryan’s hips, pushing into him in punishing, perfect thrusts.

“Like that?” Ryan asks, flicking his hair out of his face and Jordan hates him just a little bit, because even sweaty and flushed he’s beautiful. Taylor is wicked hot, all broad shoulders and tan skin and perfect teeth and smiling eyes. But Ryan is gorgeous. And even moreso the better you know him, the easier you can read what he’s thinking from the shy twist of his mouth or the slow brush of his eyelashes when he looks away. He isn’t looking away from Jordan now. He’s staring right into his eyes and watching Jordan face while he fucks him, and it’s not fair, it’s not right how gone for him Jordan is, how much he wants him.

“Nngh,” Jordan says, and closes his eyes, breathes deep and fists his hands in the sheets and loses himself to feeling.

Heat is curling low in his stomach, licking up through him and making his mouth dry, making his chest tight and his shoulders shake. Ryan’s timing is as perfect here as it is everywhere else. When Taylor would go just a little too fast, mindlessly chase his own pleasure and drag Jordan along after him, (in a way that Jordan really appreciates, don’t get him wrong) Ryan waits. He pushes in and stays deep, grinds right into Jordan before he pulls out and doesn’t fuck back into him again until Jordan’s about ready to ask for it.

Jordan feels caught. Ryan’s fingernails dig into his hips and his eyes hold Jordan more than any touch could, and he feels _clutched_ in every sense of the word. He feels loved, and brave because of it, sure and safe.

Taylor’s breath is soft against Jordan’s throat when he leans in.

“Good?”

Jordan kisses him with the weight of Ryan’s gaze warm on his face, the image of Ryan between his legs seared clear behind his eyelids.

“Yeah,” Jordan murmurs with his eyes still closed, “we are.”

 

-

 

Jordan could stay like this forever, and he’s already thinking about how much he wants to do this again, how good it’d feel to have Ryan finger him until he came and then push inside him when he’s loose and docile, spread out for Ryan without distraction, with nothing to concentrate on but how good it feels when Ryan fucks him.

But here and now, after spending all afternoon making out with Ryan, after hours of knowing that Ryan is here and not going anywhere, seeing Ryan here in their bed naked and _with_ them, Jordan is so worked up he doesn’t know whether he’s going to come or die.

Thankfully Ryan takes pity on him.

He holds out a hand to Taylor, who kisses his palm before he helpfully squirts the requested lube into it, and then Ryan is jerking Jordan off in time with Taylor’s hand on himself. He leans in and sucks a kiss around Jordan’s nipple.

“Wanna come?” he asks, and Jordan wants to kiss him first, still can’t deal with looking at Ryan and knowing he can, so he does. He drags Ryan up with a hand fisted in his hair and kisses him deep and needy, kisses him until Ryan is gripping bruises into Jordan’s biceps and gasping for breath and messing up the rhythm of fucking him, pushing into him in off kilter little snaps of his hips like he’s not thinking about it at all. Ryan’s hand doesn’t falter around Jordan’s dick, though, so Jordan stops thinking too.

“Yes, please,” Jordan says, and Ryan kisses him again, licks into Jordan’s mouth sloppy and desperate like he’s looking for his self control under Jordan’s tongue. He’s not going to find any there or anywhere else in Jordan.

“Come on, Ryan, _please_ ,” he begs, and this time it’s Taylor that gets desperate, his lower lip sucked in between his teeth and his hand working tight and fast around his cock when Jordan glances over at him.

Ryan acquiesces, going to his hands and knees over Jordan and taking his weight on one hand, tugging Jordan’s hips down into his thrusts with the other. He keeps up the pace, matches it with that of his hand around Jordan’s cock, and then he stops completely, pushing as far inside Jordan as he can go, his hand low and tight around Jordan’s shaft. Ryan leans forward, dips down to speak into Jordan’s ear.

“Once I make you come, I’m gonna ask Taylor if I can suck his cock. Think he’ll say ‘yes’?” Ryan asks, and doesn’t even give Jordan a chance to catch his breath or remember how to form sentences before he’s sitting back on his knees and fucking Jordan steadily again.

Jordan looks over at Taylor, whimpering half for himself and half for the trials that await Taylor when Ryan starts nailing his prostate, and then Jordan doesn’t have time to do more than reach blindly for Taylor’s hand and hold on tight. Jordan’s toes curl and his throat hitches around every other breath he takes and when he looks back at Ryan he’s grinning down at Jordan like he just scored a hat trick, no - like Jordan or Taylor just scored a hat trick - and Jordan is done.

“I love you,” Ryan says, smiling, and Jordan closes his eyes and squeezes Taylor hand and comes.

Ryan gasps above him, dragging Jordan’s orgasm out of him with gentling twists of his hand and deep, lovely thrusts that send pleasure skittering up along Jordan’s spine. It gets to be too much and Jordan reaches for Ryan’s hand, pulls it away from his cock and laces their fingers together against his ribs, holds on tight.

Taylor reaches over and takes hold of Ryan’s wrist, soothes circles along his pulse with his thumb.

“For keeps, okay?” he says, and Ryan shakes his hair out of his face again and laughs softly at them and comes inside Jordan, his hands clenching and trembling in their grip.

Ryan is still for all of five seconds once he recovers from his orgasm, and then he’s wincing and pulling out of Jordan, saying “sorry, sorry,” and kissing Jordan’s knee, his hip, his hand still holding Ryan’s. Jordan doesn’t ever want to let go, but he has to when Ryan crawls to Taylor and tugs his hand away from his cock, wrapping his own hand around the base and lowering his mouth down over it. He licks around the head once and says “Let me, yeah?” looking up at Taylor from beneath his eyelashes, and Jordan is honestly thankful he can’t get hard again right now.

Taylor just nods, helpless and transfixed by the sight of Ryan’s mouth around his cock, the way he gets right down to it and takes as much as he can, his cheeks hollowing out when he sucks.

Jordan curls up on against Taylor’s side to watch, laying his head on Taylor’s shoulder. When he does, Taylor looks down at him, eyes wide.

“You and Ryan, you’re so fucking hot together. His hands and your hips and oh god, his _mouth_ ,” Taylor breaks off on a groan, threading his fingers into Ryan’s hair and carefully cradling his skull, his other hand pushing Ryan’s bangs out of his face so he can see.

Ryan looks up then, and pulls off. He lets the head of Taylor’s cock rest wet on his bottom lip, fat and red from use, and he grins, cupping Taylor’s balls in his hand.

“Jesus christ,” Taylor says, and then “can I come in your mouth?” because he has no manners in the bedroom. Or anywhere else.

Ryan just keeps grinning though, licks messily along the length of Taylor’s cock and then takes it down again, letting the head ride up against the roof of his mouth and not stopping until he’s swallowing around it at the back of his throat.

Taylor’s hands fist white knuckled in the sheets and even Jordan is a little breathless, just watching.

Ryan swallows around Taylor again, and then Taylor’s hips are jerking uselessly upwards, held shaking in place by Ryan and Jordan’s hands. He closes his eyes and turns his face into Jordan’s hair, his fingers gentle on Ryan’s jaw as he comes in his mouth.

Ryan swallows, because Jordan’s beginning to suspect that he’s trying to kill them, and then Jordan and Taylor are wordlessly shifting apart to make room for him to fall to the bed between them, on his back. Jordan lies next to him on his front, propped up by his elbows and Taylor slings an arm around his waist, still breathing heavily against Ryan’s shoulder.

They’re all silent for a minute, lost to their thoughts and the quest to recapture their breath when Taylor, as usual, ruins the moment.

“So that answers that then. He’s better than us at sex too,” he says, resigned and awed.

Ryan blushes, and Jordan kisses his flushed cheek. Taylor huffs.

“I’m not kidding. We’re never leaving this apartment again. We’ve all got at least one gold medal, do we really need any more? Because I for one am happy to live out my glory days right here in this bed,” he says, hugging Ryan close, cuddly like he always gets after sex.

Ryan rolls his eyes at Jordan, but lets himself be manhandled.

“Can we tempt you as far as the shower, though?” he asks, and Jordan shakes his head sadly.

“You just slept with us to get a shot at our shower, didn’t you?”

Ryan leans in to bite Jordan nice and painful on the shoulder.

“Yep. I designed and installed my dream shower for you so I’d have to have sex with you in order to get to use it. You caught me,” he says, deadpan, and Jordan loves him.

“I love you,” he says, looking between them, Ryan snug in Taylor’s arms and held tight against his chest. 

Taylor smiles a sated, crooked smile at him over Ryan’s shoulder.

“I love your shower,” Ryan says, “and your boyfriend. And you.”

“ _Our_ boyfriend,” Jordan amends, and Ryan hides his smile in against Taylor’s shoulder.

“I love everyone in this bed, in case anyone wanted to know,” Taylor says, and then they’re all quiet for a moment.

“Does he ever stop talking about his feelings?” Ryan lifts his head to enquire, and Jordan laughs and leans over to kiss him first, and then a very indignant Taylor.

 

-

 

It turns out the shower really is the perfect size for three.

There’s plenty of room for Jordan to wash Ryan’s hair, and for Ryan to lean in along Taylor’s back, helpfully soaping his chest and not so helpfully groping him. Not that anyone but Jordan complains about the fairness of that.

 

-

 

Towelling off and getting dressed again is a haphazard and enlightening affair.

Taylor finally gets to lick beads of water from Ryan’s collarbones like he’s talked about after every single practice for months now.

Jordan gains an ally in his constant battle to retain his balance in the face of Taylor’s cruel and uncalled-for attempts to push him over every time he tries to step into his sweats, because now he has Ryan to hold him up with steady hands on his waist and a stern frown sent Taylor’s way.

Ryan realizes he doesn’t even have to return to what was once his bedroom to grab clothes, because at some point over the last few weeks both he and Jordan had started piling his stuff in here with theirs when they did laundry.

They move easily around one another, tossing one another things they find that aren’t theirs, changing and making the bed again, none of them able to keep their hands off one another or smiles off their faces.

Ryan ends up pocketing all three of their phones simply because he’s closest to the bedside table, and when they collapse onto the sofa to settle in for an afternoon of food and video games, Jordan feels for the first time in months like nothing is missing, like everything he needs is right here.

They sprawl all over one another, already arguing over which game to play, and they’re home.

 

-

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

{ four years later }

 

Ryan is bending over to grab more beer from the fridge when Jordan comes into the kitchen to ask where Taylor put the napkins. He quickly forgets his mission at the opportunity to push his hands into the front pockets of Ryan’s jeans and pulling his ass back into Jordan’s hips, though.

“Jordan, people will be here any minute,” Ryan scolds, and Jordan sighs.

“How did you know it was me and not Taylor?”

Ryan straightens up and hands Jordan some bottles, laughing. Unfair, Jordan thinks. Taylor is way more handsy than he’ll ever be. In their kitchen, anyway. When people are coming over, at least. Mostly. Usually. When he needs to be, okay.

“Where _is_ Taylor,” Ryan asks, but he answers his own question when he follows Jordan out into the backyard and they find Taylor rolling around on the lawn with Digit. She’s still too small to be able to jump up into his arms even when he’s sitting down, so she’s standing with her front paws on his forearm, barking indignantly at him. Taylor scoops her up into his arms and then lies back on the grass, staring up into the sky and letting her get comfy on his chest until Ryan and Jordan startle them by dropping beers into the ice bucket.

Digit darts across the lawn and scrambles up the steps of the deck to get to them, and Taylor follows close behind.

He presses a kiss to each of their cheeks even though they’ve only been running around getting everything ready for like an hour now, and Jordan can’t say he minds. Taylor pulls the napkins Jordan was looking for out from underneath a pile of plates and they stand around double checking that they’ve got everything they need while Digit runs in circles around their ankles until the doorbell sends her shooting for the front door.

Most of the team is pouring in then, Whits’ “happy housewarming!” loud even over the noise of an entire hockey team plus their significant others.

It’s the first time most of the guys have been over since they bought this place last month, so they scatter to snoop until they eventually find their way out to the backyard to chirp Ryan and Taylor and Jordan about the fact that they’ve got more framed pictures of the team with the Stanley Cup than they do of the three of them together.

“But … we can look at one another any time we want,” Taylor protests, and everyone laughs until Whits clears his throat pointedly.

He clearly intends to make a toast, and Jordan is kind of terrified.

But he needn’t be.

“When Ryan first joined the team, the very first thing I did was start a pool on how long it’d take you two to realize that the three of you were stupid about one another and perfect for one another. The second was to place a bet on us winning the Cup. So let’s have a toast to how big both paid off, yeah?” is all he says, and it’s just right.

Jordan smiles at Ryan and slips his hand into Taylor’s back pocket as everyone drinks to toast all the huge and many ways in which he’s lucked out.

 

-

 

Much, much later that night when almost everyone has wandered home or headed on out with the next generation of rookies, Petry catches Jordan with a hand on his elbow and drags him over underneath the tree.

“I just wanted to say … Jonesy and I gave you and Taylor a pretty hard time at the beginning there, and I wanted you to know that …”

Jordan stops him.

“Hey it’s fine, we know and we knew then that you were just looking out for Ryan. We were glad he had you guys,” Jordan says honestly, because he could never hold a concern for Ryan’s well being against anyone for any reason.

“It was just a lot at first, you know? We knew you and Taylor wouldn’t hurt him, but … we couldn’t be sure that what he wanted wouldn’t hurt all three of you, maybe. But everything worked out in the end, right? I’m happy for you, man,” Jeff finishes, smiling, and Jordan is happy for them, too.

“And to think it’s all thanks to Ryan’s DIY skills,” Jordan laughs, starting to walk back toward the house, but turning around when he realizes Jeff isn’t following. He’s still standing under the tree, staring at Jordan, this confused little frown on his face.

“Ryan didn’t have any DIY skills when he became an Oiler, dude. He spent like a solid month watching instructional home renovation shows so he could fix those stupid holes you fools put in your walls.”

Jordan stares at Jeff.

And then he looks across the yard at Ryan sitting in Taylor’s lap, the two of them laughing with Jamie and Whits and Maggie’s wife.

Jordan laughs so hard that everyone looks over at him, startled.

Jamie winks at him knowingly as she leaves, though, and loudly praises the staircase that Ryan had built for them.

 

-

 

They clean up as much as they can before it gets dark, and leave the rest for tomorrow, putting on the last load of dishes and padding back out to the back porch with their beers. Ryan lifts Digit up onto the swing with them, and the three of them sit in easy silence, looking out over the trees.

Jordan is thinking about all the plans they’ve already made for this summer, but Taylor is thinking bigger, as ever.

“Do you think we’ll sit here one day with our grandkids?” he asks, rocking the swing gently underneath the three of them.

Ryan and Jordan turn to look at him and Ryan raises his eyebrows at Jordan, but not in a completely shocked or disinterested kind of way.

“I think we’d need to have kids first, for that, Taylor,” Ryan points out, and Jordan holds his breath.

Taylor nods, and doesn’t say anything for so long that Jordan thinks maybe he isn’t going to.

But eventually he hooks one knee over Ryan’s, and slips his hand underneath Jordan’s on the edge of the swing.

And then “yeah,” he says.

“Yeah?”

 

-

 

**bonus!Epilogue ; Taylor's POV**

 

So in the end (and it's not really the end, not at all) Taylor gets what he wants. For a while there he honestly thought he might not. As much as he wanted it and as much as he could see that they _all_ did, these things take way more patience than Taylor will ever admit to having when you're committed to the happiness of Ryan Nugent-Hopkins and Jordan Eberle.

He could have dragged them into the living room and shoved them down onto the couch on the day Ryan first moved in with them and laid out a few home truths that would probably have gotten him what he was working toward right then and there and with carpet burns to mark the occasion, but as awful as it had been to see them run around in circles driving themselves (and him) insane for no reason whatsoever, and as strange as it may sound, it's what they needed to do, and he knows that. He knew it then, too.

They're the most maddeningly self-sacrificing people he's ever met, and he'd be mad about it if it weren't for the fact that it only ever comes into play when it's for people they care about, causes worthy of their worry, if causes that don't need it.

It might have taken them months to figure out what he could see as clear as day, but they got there in the end, and most importantly – they did it the right way, for them. They got their on their own and as soon as they did, they knew what Taylor knew all along – that it was forever.

Taylor can't begrudge them any process that won him both of their hearts in the end.

He can complain about it, though. And he does. Plenty.

“Yeah we're just really incredibly sorry that we wanted to do this right, that we wanted to be sure,” Jordan usually gives him some version of.

Ryan will chip in with a “We're _so_ sorry we cared so much about one another that we wanted to take things slow,” or something similar.

Taylor always listens with a smile, and says the same thing every single time.

“Thanks, you guys. Your apologies aren't necessary, but they really mean a lot to me.”

What follows next is usually some variation on the classic hug tackle, but Taylor is always the one to work the tackle part out and get them catching their breath in hugs that take his away.

He's a cuddly dude. And he loves his guys. He has all along.

 

  
-

 

  
**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> A laundry list of details I fudged / changed / embellished or guessed here;
> 
> -This story begins with the ASG and I switched the injuries Ryan had around this time around. Both were shoulder injuries but one meant a lengthier stay on IR because he then came down with flu, and for the sake of my timeline and my own nefarious purposes I chose to write that particular instance as occurring later than it in fact did.
> 
> -I also brought Ryan back from this injury 2 games earlier than he canonically returned to the line-up; here he suits up again for the Oilers' game against Calgary on February 21st when in reality he didn't return until their game against Phoenix on February 25th.
> 
> -In reality, Taylor went on vacation during the All Star Break.
> 
> -For the purposes of this story I wrote Taylor Hall's bathroom in his apartment with Jordan Eberle as being an en suite, but in reality it isn't.
> 
> -I have no idea if the room we see just off their kitchen during their Cribs-style video is in fact a dining room.
> 
> -The last I heard Jordan and Taylor weren't road roommates and Ryan definitely rooms with Ryan Jones right now, but in a story where they're in a relationship I switched it so Jordan and Taylor do room together on the road.
> 
> -I have written them here as returning to Edmonton immediately after their game versus Tampa Bay on Thursday, March 22nd when in fact they then had a further away game in Florida the next day.
> 
> -Although I acknowledge and include canon-compliable details of Taylor Hall's concussion late in the season and his decision at this time to schedule shoulder surgery I hand waved the fact that he underwent this surgery in Cleveland. I'm vaguely working on the assumption that this story ends just before that. I also completely hand waved Taylor's Frankenscar incident.
> 
> -At the point at which I mention the Colorado Avalanche's schedule I moved it forward by 3 days.
> 
> -I switched the goals scored by Jordan and Taylor around for their game versus the Philadelphia Flyers on February 23rd.
> 
>  
> 
> Aside from these, every game / schedule reference that I make is canon-compliant, to the best of my knowledge.


End file.
